What Happens In Vegas
by AminalLuv
Summary: COMPLETE: Despite what they say, what happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas.  Sometimes you're actually stuck with the consequences of your actions.
1. Sin City

**AN- yes, yes, I know--_another_ new story? This one is going to be short--only a 3 parter most likely, and I just couldn't resist. My sincere hope is to have both the final chapter and epilogue of LAWKI out by Saturday as that is the 1 year anniversery of the day I started it and I just think that would be really cool. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this new piece. **

* * *

"You coming with us tonight, Gilmore?" Shelly asked. Shelly was another one of the reporters riding the Barack Bus, as we affectionately (or sometimes not so affectionately) called it—a group of reporters from newspapers across the country following Barack Obama on his campaign to become the democratic nominee for the 2008 presidential election. Shelly was also my designated roommate wherever we may happen to crash each night. 

This particular night we were in a run-down motel with TV's that still had bunny ears for reception and beds that accepted quarters—not much different from the usual crap hole we crashed in, except for the rusty slot machines lining the walls of the lobby. We were in Las Vegas, after all. Tomorrow, Obama would be holding a rally at UNLV.

"I don't know," I said hesitantly. "We have to work tomorrow." I sat cross-legged on the bed in front of my suitcase, shifting through it carefully, looking for my pajamas and refolding each article of clothing I encountered in the mean time.

"Not until noon," Shelly reminded me, shoving aside a pile of neatly stacked and perfectly pressed blouses and flopping down on the bed next to me. What else could you expect in Vegas—a college campus in Vegas to be more exact, asking such a population to show up anywhere before midday on a Saturday was practically blasphemous. Not that I minded a chance to sleep in—even if it was on sheets that would probably glow under a black light despite even the best efforts of Kim Woodburn and Aggie MacKenzie.

"I'm just not in the mood tonight," I replied, vaguely but honestly.

"You're never in the mood," Shelly whined. It wasn't _exactly_ true. I did go out with the group from time to time; I just wasn't the party animal like Shelly. I preferred to spend the night with either a favorite book or a classic movie. Tonight, Turner Classic Movies happened to be airing a mini Hepburn marathon—if the hunk of metal sitting in front of me was even capable of getting that channel.

"Oh come on," Shelly pleaded, bouncing slightly on the bed and looking at me with big, green eyes. "We're in Vegas, hun, it's the city that never sleeps!'

"That's New York, Shell," I corrected her, grabbing one of the shirts she had so carelessly discarded and folding it up again.

"Oh, well than the city of lights," she tried again.

"Paris," I replied.

"Umm…the eternal city?

"Rome."

"Err…"

"Sin City," I said after a minute, finally putting my friend out of her misery. "Las Vegas is Sin City."

"Even better!" Shelly smiled eagerly, her eyes lighting up with glee—and just a hint of trouble. "This city's so much fun, it's a sin! How can you say 'no' to that?"

"Umm, by having morals?" I answered, putting the last of my clothes back in the suitcase and shutting the top. I had always been the kind of person to unpack completely at a hotel, but when you were moving to a new place nearly every night, the habit died quickly and you really did start living out of a suitcase.

"Oh please," she scoffed. "I know there's a rebel somewhere in there beneath that goody-goody façade."

If only she knew. Growing up, I really had been as good as all that—the perfect daughter, the perfect granddaughter, the perfect student, and even the perfect town princess. I never let anyone down, except maybe myself.

Then I met Logan. Yep, he's an ex., t_he_ ex, really. I mean, I had always been the serious relationship kind of girl; even when Logan and I were in our 'no strings' phase, I hadn't seen anyone else except that one date with his friend that I used to make him jealous. So all of my exes were a big deal, but Logan was the biggest. We dated for almost three years, living together for a while, and even weathering the ups and downs of a long distance relationship. Logan changed me. I did a lot of things when I was with him that I was ashamed of—like stealing a yacht, and dropping out of Yale- but even though I'm ashamed of my actions during that time of my life, I don't regret it. For once in my life, I wasn't perfect, and it was liberating. Oh, don't get me wrong, I was miserable without the structure of school, but when I went back, I knew without a doubt it was because _I_ wanted to be there. As for Logan, he stood by me through it all, encouraging me to find out who I really was and stop being the person everyone else expected me to be.

Logan had almost been 'the one.'

But the day my Yale career ended, so did our relationship. That had been six months ago, and I still couldn't seem to get him off my mind. In fact, he was really the main reason I didn't want to go out with the group that particular night. I kept thinking about this time, when he ran off to Vegas with his two best friends, Colin and Finn. It was just after this big business deal of his fell through. He had been so excited about the deal. His father-slash-boss had wanted nothing to do with it, so Logan had invested his own time, money, heart, and soul into finding the backing, making the deal happen, and proving his father wrong. When he wound up proving his dear old Dad right instead, he kind of spiraled into this dark place.

He didn't tell me about the deal for weeks, and when he finally confessed, he then proceeded to tell me that he was flying off to Vegas to 'let off some steam.' I was angry. I was angry that he was acting like a child instead of a man, I was angry that he was running away from his problems, but mostly I was angry that it wasn't me he was running to. The only trouble was, when he finally was ready to run to me, I wasn't there—literally. I had gone of to North Carolina for an old friend's wedding without a word. He tracked me down and flew out there to tell me he was sorry, that he knew he'd screwed up, and that he'd decided to quit his father's company. He was finally going to stand up and be a man; his own man, succeeding in the world on his own terms. I was so proud of him. Little did I know that that moment might have been the beginning of the end for us. I usually avoided thinking about that. I generally tried to not think about him at all, but sometimes I just couldn't help it.

"Not tonight, there isn't," I responded to Shelly's statement.

"I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Ror. You're stuck with me for the next year, assuming Obama kick's Clinton's butt in the primary—honestly, the woman already got to run the country for eight years, it's time she gave someone else a chance—and if you don't come out with us tonight, I will not let you live it down."

And she really wouldn't, the girl was an elephant and not only did _she_ not forget, she never let you forget either. She was still bugging Cecil about that time her drank her Mountain Dew out of the cooler on the bus, and that was three months ago.

"I hate you."

"That maybe so, but it's not getting you out of going out with us tonight. Now, we're going to be hitting up all the really big hot spots. We'll abuse our press passes if we have to, so make sure you dress hot." I narrowed my eyes and scowled at her, before flopping back on the bed with a sigh.

"I'll wear what I please," I told her, knowing very well that she would be dressing me up like a Barbie the second I stepped out of the shower. I really needed to get a back bone.

Two hours, eight tops, four pairs of pants, and three skirts later, I had finally gotten the Shelly Starsky seal of approval and she was dragging me out the door. I was wearing a denim mini skirt, a green, strapless baby doll shirt and a pair of white peak-toe pumps that would ensure I drank plenty of alcohol, if only as a form of pain relief. There were six of us total, so we hailed a couple of cabs and sped off towards the strip.

"It's so totally obvious," Shelly slurred to me, pointing her finger towards the dance floor in the club and moving it back and forth as her finger tried to follow the subjects of our conversation (or, more accurately, her ramble) as the room spun in a circle around her. "They've been sharing a room with one queen sized bed for the last three weeks. Do they really think they're fooling _anyone_ with that; let alone a bus full or reporters?" Apparently, Harold, of the Huntingdon Herald, was in the midst of a torrid love affair with Tara from the Tampa Bay Tribune, who was nearly ten years his senior.

"I think they're a cute couple," I told her honestly.

"It's icky. A woman that old should not have a better sex life than me, not that Harold is some great catch or anything, but that's beside the point." She shuddered, and knocked back another red-headed slut; it was her signature drink as she felt that the name described her to a 't'—her words, not mine.

"It's not icky, it's…" I trailed off, staring into the crowd.

"What?" Shelly asked, although whether it was in reference to what I was about to say, or why I stopped, I don't know.

Nothing," I replied with a shake of my head, coming out of my daze. It really was nothing, I was sure of it. It wouldn't be the first time I thought I saw him in a crowd, especially when he was already on my mind.

Shelly looked at me skeptically for a moment, but then shrugged her shoulders. "What was I saying?" she asked me.

Now fully back to my senses after my imagination had run away with me, I looked carefully at the flush-faced, flailing armed girl in front of me. "You were saying you were going to switch over to water," I told her. Now Shelly's a smart girl when she's focused, but she can also be a little…absent minded. Still, even a completely trashed Shelly wasn't gullible enough to fall for that one.

"Yeah right," she scoffed. It looked like I was in for another night of holding her hair back while she hurled, and making sure she didn't pass out on her back. What a thrilling life I led.

Then I saw it again, just a glimpse. It was clearly another figment of my imagination. Like that cute, little, pink and purple Disney dragon- only it was taller, blonder, and a species that actually exists. My eyes scanned the room anyway, trying to provide support to my conclusion that I was simply going crazy. Logan was in San Francisco, becoming the next Mark Zuckerburg, not here in Vegas getting drunk. He wasn't in that club and he wasn't in my life—thanks to my very own stupidity. I needed to get over this.

I finished my once over of the crowd not seeing any signs of the blond haired, brown eyed, ex that I was still head-over-heals in love with. I was just about to turn my attention back to Shelly when something did catch my attention, and made the whole world around me go a little hazy. It was one thing to imagine that blond haired, brown eyed, ex, but it was something else entirely to imagine his tall, lanky, green eyed, Australian best friend. This couldn't be real—could it?

"Nice," I heard Shelly voice through the buzzing in my ears. I turned around to see her nodding her head in approval, though I wasn't sure of what—unless… "You should totally go talk to him." I followed her gaze to see that she was staring that the same thing I had been staring at just a moment before—Finn.

"That's a very bad idea," I said, attempting to make myself invisible behind her, which was nearly impossible, seeing as she had the approximate dimensions of 'Reporter Barbie.'

"Oh come on," she goaded, too drunk to take note of my suddenly strange behavior. I was quickly coming to the realization that this was not just some incredibly realistic nightmare. "You were totally just checking him out. He's a hottie. If you won't go talk to him, maybe I will."

"But he…I…" I stumbled. "I was _not _checking him out," I finally declared. This was bad. This was very, very bad.

"I saw you staring at him, Ror. You don't need to deny it. It's about time you started paying attention to guys, I was starting to wonder if maybe you were a lesbian. Now personally, I'd be totally cool if that were the case, but I think that hottie over there is a much better choice."

Shelly was stubborn. I might have already mentioned that. When she had her mind set on something, it was nearly impossible to talk her out of it, and apparently she now had her mind set on Finn—for at least one of us. I couldn't let that happen. Sure, there was always the chance that Finn would be so drunk (to tell you he was a bit of a lush would be a massive understatement) that he'd forget running into me and Logan would never know, but there was also that chance that he'd see me, give me a major tongue lashing for breaking his best friend's heart, and then disappear into the crowd to pass the information on to his blond companion. I didn't even want to think about how Logan would react to the news that I was in the same room as him.

No, we definitely couldn't go talk to Finn, in fact, there was really only one thing _to_ do. Run. It was my tried and true method when things got tough, and I was more than ready to embrace the old habit once again.

Now how to convince Shelly? I could tell her that I really _was_ a lesbian. Of course that might get me out of flirting with Finn, but it wouldn't get me out of the club. Shelly would just probably start pointing out all the hot women in the club, and by tomorrow the entire bus would be talking. I could just tell her I wasn't feeling well, but somehow I suspected she wouldn't fall for that. In fact, I could think of only one thing that might convince her—the truth, severely limited of course.

"Fine," I admitted. "I may have been staring, but I wasn't 'checking'. Checking out Finn would be wrong on so many levels you do not comprehend."

She started to open her mouth to respond but stopped short as she caught on to something I said. She leaned her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in question. "Finn?"

"Finn," I sighed, jabbing my thumb across the room towards the man in question.

"You know him?"

"I know him," I confirmed.

"Like, you know him, or you _know _him."

"Shelly!" I replied, feeling the blush creep up into my cheeks.

"What? It's a legitimate question," she defended with a smirk. "Besides, I need to know if he's fair game."

"No, I never slept with Finn. Although I have seen him naked—granted Colin and Robert were naked as well and they all had their underwear on their head while they danced around in circles. It's something I try to avoid thinking about."

Shelly took another look over my shoulder to check him out. "Well Finn could dance naked for me any day," she sighed.

"Can we please just leave?" I groaned.

"If you've never slept with him, I don't see what the problem is. There's got to be some sort of history there to have you so wound up." Why did reporters have to be so damned perceptive even when they were drunk?

"It's just complicated."

"Well then, explain it to me, and maybe I'll let us leave."

I sighed. "I have a better idea. I'll just get my own taxi back to the motel and you can stay here and do as you please."

"Fine, you leave, I'll go have a little chat with this Finn character. I'll tell him I'm a friend of Rory Gilmore's and she highly recommended that I see him naked." Shelly grinned evilly.

I gave her my best withering stare. "You wouldn't."

"Wanna bet?" she asked with raised eyebrows. She pushed herself off the bar and went to move in the direction of Finn but stopped short, looking around. I turned around myself only to notice that the Aussie in question was no longer in the same spot he had been a moment ago. I should have been relieved that Shelly couldn't follow through on her threat, at least for the moment, but something just didn't feel right. It was only a moment before I figured out why.

"If you could just set me up with a bit of my good fried Jack, I'd be forever grateful," I heard a very familiar, accented voice say. My first thought was to freeze, like prey avoiding a predator, hoping that if I didn't move, he couldn't see me. "And by a bit, I mean you can just give me the bottle. Oh, and don't forget a refill for the gorgeous lady and her friend," he instructed the bartender, clapping a hand on my shoulder. Busted.

I slowly turned around to face the speaker. "Hi," I said meekly, giving him a timid smile. Finn narrowed his eyes and looked at me curiously.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" If I didn't know any better, I might actually think he really was just hitting on me without recognizing me. Unfortunately, I did know better.

"We may have met once or twice." Finn seemed to contemplate this for a minute before a big grin spread over his face.

"Ah yes, I remember now. You're that Reporter Girl who broke my best mate's heart into a billion tiny little pieces and left him as a shell of the man he used to be." He winked at me to let me know that he was only (half?) joking. "Good to see you again, love."

I didn't know what to say, I just stood there, staring like an idiot.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?" He nodded his head towards the red-head behind me.

"Oh…right…uh, Finn, this is Shelly. Shelly, this is Finn." I stumbled through the perfunctory introductions.

"Hello, love," Finn smiled, taking her hand and kissing the back of it.

"Hi," Shelly giggled and I rolled my eyes. "You're even cuter up close."

"Ahh, yes I thought I saw you two staring. I understand; it's hard to resist ogling the Finnster."

"Now," he said, turning his attention back to me. I was a bit disconcerted by the fact that Finn was paying attention to me when there was a gorgeous red head so close. "How about a hug for an old friend," he smiled at me. A real genuine smile and I almost felt a little better for a moment as he pulled me into an embrace—but only for a moment. "Don't worry, love. I'm fairly certain he hasn't spotted you yet," he whispered in my ear. Well, not a whisper exactly, considering the blaring music and roar of the crowd around us. "He's been too busy sulking."

"Sulking?" I asked, pulling away. "Why is he sulking, is everything OK?" I couldn't help it. I knew it wasn't my place to worry about him anymore, but I didn't really seem to have a say in the matter. I still loved him, and worrying just came with the territory.

Finn chuckled almost sardonically. "No, love. He isn't OK. In case you've forgotten, just a few short months ago, he publicly declared his undying love for the woman of his dreams and she stomped all over his poor, exposed heart."

"Who stomped on whose heart?" I vaguely heard Shelly ask from behind us

"Hey! I didn't stomp," I huffed. "In case _you've_ forgotten, _he_ broke up with _me._" Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the bartender and switched my empty glass for a full one per Finn's request. I quickly scooped it up and downed the liquid within. The two drinks I'd had throughout the course of the evening were not going to be nearly enough for me to deal with this.

"Who broke up with you?"

"Well what did you expect, love? That you'd turn down his marriage proposal and everything would just continue on as though nothing had happened? It doesn't really work that way."

"Marriage proposal?" Shelly shrieked.

"Can we not have this discussion, Finn?" I asked. "Can't we just talk about anything else?"

"Oh, no," Shelly insisted, shoving herself in front of me. "I want to hear this. You've been holding out on me, Gilmore."

"Please," I said to Shelly, my eyes pleading with her to just let this go. "Not here. Not now. I swear, I'll tell you, I just…" I tailed off, choking on my words. Why did this have to be so damn hard?

"He's here," Shelly's eyes went wide. "'Mr. 'Almost Fiancé' is here."

I nodded my head slowly.

"Where? I wanna see!"

Finn pointed a finger to a table near the corner. I followed his direction and when my eyes finally landed on him I swear I felt my heart stop beating. Was this what a heart attack felt like? If so, I was sure to swear off French fries for the rest of my existence. The two glances I'd had of him before, I didn't really think it was him, but now, there was no denying it. He was there, not more than a hundred feet away, with his friend Seth, nursing a drink that was surely his signature scotch.

Some Lindsay-Lohan-wannabe and her friend made their way over and started flirting. I gritted my teeth and motioned for a refill. If he could make nice with a brunette slut, I could make nice with a red-headed one. I downed the drink in one gulp. I was too irrational to consider the fact that he was clearly more interested in his scotch than he was in her.

"You know, love, Colin finally bit the bullet and committed to Steph," Finn said, changing the topic to the other one of the three musketeers and his long time on again off again girlfriend. "The ultimate commitment, actually, they're getting married next week." He smiled genuinely but it quickly morphed into a smirk. "We're here for the bachelor party. Steph made him promise no strip clubs, but Robert was determined to get him a lap dance anyway. I wonder if he has been successful."

This conversation wasn't any easier. Why did Colin and Steph get their happy ending? Oh yeah, because Steph wasn't an enormous idiot who chose the freedom to pick from a million different job offers over the chance to spend a life time with the man she loved. I tried to force a smile. "That's great. Give them my congratulations."

"I will," Finn agreed. "You know, it's great when two people who love each other can over come all the problems and the circumstances and make a life for themselves; don't you think?"

I glared at his not-so-subtle hints. Some problems were just impossible to overcome, no matter how much we wished otherwise.

"Well," Finn said in a chipper tone, "Time to go make sure the man of honor is trashed." I watched as he slipped the bar-tender a hundred dollar bill. "Give the ladies another round on me," he instructed.

We said our good-byes and I watched as Finn slipped back into the crowd. My eyes immediately wandered back over to the table where Logan was sitting. The brunette was still there and I couldn't help but wonder if she'd get to share a bed with him that night, or if there had been a different brunette in his bed the night before. Maybe there was one brunette who spent consecutive nights with him. Maybe he even had a cute little pet name for her, like the way he always used to call me 'Ace' on account of my reporter status.

"So," Shelly started. "I'm guessing he's the reason you're always staring out the window of the bus, looking like you're about to burst into tears, and the reason that Manhattan-Times-Phil hasn't been able to get so much as a flirtatious smile out of you, no matter how much charm he lays out there."

I sighed, forcing my eyes away from the painful view before me. "Can we go _now,_ please?" I begged.

Shelly looked at me appraisingly. "One more shot, and then we'll go find the others to let them know we're leaving," she promised, instructing the bartender to fill our glasses one more time.

We finished our drinks, and headed through the crowd on the dance floor in search of someone from our group to alert to our early departure.

I ducked between two lewdly grinding couples and walked straight into something or someone very tall. I took a step back and looked at the person in front of me with a scowl.

"Well, fancy running into you again. Didn't see you there, love." From the smirk on Finn's face it was obvious that he _had_ in fact seen me there. I moved my glare away from his face to see the man standing beside him. "Although I'm glad I get to see you girls again, I was hoping to have a dance with the lovely Shelly. You don't mind, do you?" he asked me. He grabbed Shelly's hand before I'd even had a chance to respond, handed me his bottle of Jack Daniels, pulled her away into the crowd, and left me standing there, face to face, with a very unhappy looking blond.

Finn was going to die. It wasn't going to be a quick death, either. No, it was going to be slow and unpleasant. I would start by locking him up and depriving him of both red heads and alcohol. I would taunt him with images of his favorite things until he went mad with desire. It would all end with a tragic cough syrup overdose.

First, I had to deal with more pressing matters—like the angry ex standing in front of me. I took a swig of the whiskey in an attempt to calm my nerves. "Um, hi," I squeaked.

Logan sent me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred before pivoting on the heel of his Armani loafer and shoving his way through the mess of people swarming around us.

I stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, until suddenly, an image flashed through my mind.

_Logan grabbed the blue velvet box from my outstretched hands, the pain in his eyes obvious to anyone who bothered to look. "Good bye, Rory." He shoved the ring in his pocket turned, and walked out of my life._

This was it, my second chance, and I wasn't about to let it go to waste. He wouldn't walk away from me again—not without a fight.

"Logan," I yelled, weaving my way through the path of parted people that he'd left in his wake, though it was already starting to close in on me. "Logan, wait, please!" I finally caught up to him, my small size apparently having helped me maneuver my way through thenpartiers. I laid a hand on his shoulder and even this slightest of touches sent a surge through my body, reminding me of what I'd been missing the past several months.

He spun around angrily. "I thought my storming off was a pretty clear indication that I didn't want to talk to you, but apparently not. What do you want?"

The sudden surge of adrenaline that had seemingly suffused my being mere moments before must have worn off, leaving me wide-eyed, shaky, and unable to form coherent strings of syllables better known as words, phrases, and sentences. I frantically tried to come up with something to say. What did you say to the man whose heart you broke? What did you say to the man who broke your heart—and left all the pieces still aching for him?

"Umm, how are you?" I'm not sure what part of my brain came up with _that_ brilliant opener, but I was certain all the other parts of my brain would mock it once they had gotten over the utter humiliation.

"How am I?" he repeated, looking at me like I was as crazy as I felt. "How am I, let's see…" he said, bringing his hand up to his chin in a 'thinking' gesture, and tapping his foot on the floor. "Well, let's refresh our memories, shall we. In the last year I invested nearly everything I had in a business venture that went belly up, causing me to quit my job, lose my apartment, and basically be disowned from my family. Now, you've met my parents, so really, you're probably thinking that's no great loss, and for the most part you'd be right, except that as much as I loathe them, they are still the only parents I have. But I figured, hey it's OK, it'll be fine, so long as I've got Rory to support me. So I went about trying to find a new job, and low and behold, as luck would have it, I get this great job offer to be a partner in this really awesome internet company. Well, things finally seem to be looking up. I've got this great new life that I made for myself starting right in front of my eyes and the only thing I can think of that would make it better is getting to share it all with the woman I love. So of course, I put my heart out there, ask her to marry me, and guess what she says? Oh, that's right, she tells me that she can't, because she's got all of these '_doors'_ open to her and marrying me might close them. Can you imagine that, Rory? The one person who opened the whole word to me, thought that I closed it for her. So I got on a plane, and flew across the country completely and utterly alone," he finished his rant. "So why don't you go ahead and tell me how you _think_ I am?"

I stared at him, my mouth agape. It was official, I was a horrible person. I had really done all that. I had abandoned the man I loved when he needed me the most. I had put my own selfish desires first. I deserved to rot.

"That's what I thought," he said after a moment of my silence. He went to turn away again and suddenly something inside of me snapped. My self-loathing was replaced with anger. How dare he put all of this on me? I didn't abandon him! I simply said I wasn't ready to get married. He's the one who said 'all or nothing,' he's the one that chose to end it.

I raced around him, until I was standing in front of him, blocking his escape route. "Don't you dare," I spat out. "This is _not_ all my fault. _You_ made the decision, not me. I loved you, and I wanted to be with you, but that wasn't enough for you. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you wanted, but you didn't even _try_ to understand. My saying 'no' had nothing to do with not wanting to be with you, with not wanting to spend my life with you— marriage is a big deal. I was twenty-two, Logan. I was just graduating college and I had no idea what I was doing with my life. My whole life I was Lorelai's daughter, Emily and Richard's granddaughter, Star's Hollow's princess, Chilton's star pupil…and I never even had the chance to be just me, until you came along. You're the one who showed me how to stop living for everyone else and start living for myself. Well, I finally had the chance. I had the chance to go out into the world with no expectations except for the ones I made for myself. I had a chance to decide what _I_ wanted out of life and to be the person _I_ wanted to be. And just when I was getting the chance to be just 'Rory Gilmore,' you went and asked me to be 'Rory Huntzberger.' If I had known how you'd have reacted to my answer beforehand, maybe I'd have given you a different one, but it would have been wrong. It would have been me doing one more thing just to please someone I loved, despite what _I _wanted. You couldn't have just given me a little more time? That's all I wanted. Just some time to figure out the true extent of _my_ identity before I went and forever tied it to someone else's. I would have married you, Logan. I _wanted_ to marry you; just not so soon. So don't you _dare _try and make me out to be the bad guy here."

That extra swig of Finn's Jack must have kicked in at the moment, erasing the last semblance of sobriety from my body. He stood there staring at me without a word and I suddenly felt light-headed and there was an unnerving churning feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Then, without warning, his arm reached out, grabbed me by the waist, and pulled me close. Before I had a chance to even process, his lips were on mine and the whole world seemed to fade away.

* * *

I groaned as my mind registered the light that somehow permeated my shut eyelids. Drinking was bad and I promised myself at that moment that I would never do it again. I flipped over onto my stomach, and buried my face into the soft, fluffy pillow and pulled the down comforter closer around me…since when did the crappy motel we'd stayed at have down comforters?I opened my eyes, but all I saw was pillow case. Where was I? Oh god, I had done something monumentally stupid, hadn't I? The last thing I could remember was Logan grabbing me and kissing me. For a moment I held on to the hope that Logan and I had parted ways at some point shortly there after and I'd found some stranger to take me back to his room and help me forget the pain of my broken heart. Somehow, that thought was less scary than dealing with the awkward morning after of having a one-night stand with the ex I once thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with. 

I forced myself to turn over and face my surroundings. Over in the corner of the room, thrown haphazardly on the chair that was situated there, was a familiar, grey jacket with fraying edges. There was no mistaking it. He'd had it the entire time we were together, and it was one of my favorite articles of clothing on him.

I groaned, dreading the morning I had in store for me. Maybe I could sneak out while he was still showering. But of course, the moment I considered that option, I heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom, stop. I let out a sigh, and flopped back onto the bed. It was a stupid idea to begin with.

A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and Logan walked out; a tiny hotel towel tied around his waist and his bare-naked torso, tanned and toned glittering with a few beads of moisture that had likely dripped down from his hair. He smiled brightly at me and I resisted the urge to borrow deep under the covers and hide in shame.

"How you feeling?" he asked.

"Been better," I mumbled.

"Yeah, well that's what you get for drinking Jack Daniels straight," he chided. "Hold on." He disappeared into the bathroom again and emerged a moment later. "I called room service a little while ago, but they absolutely refused to send up a mashed potato, Mac and cheese, biscuit, gravy boat," he smirked at me and I tried to control the flip-flopping of my heart. So what if his smirk was adorable, _and _he was half naked, _and_ he remembered exactly what I ate to curb my hangover on the morning we officially became a couple. That didn't make this situation any less awkward. And why exactly did it not seem to be at all awkward for him?

He bent down to open up the mini-fridge and I found myself helplessly staring at his ass. God, how was I supposed to concentrate on the matter at hand here? "But I did manage to convince the concierge to locate a taco place that would be willing to deliver at 10AM, so your hangover burritos should be arriving soon."

He stood up with a bottle of water in hand and walked over to the bed. "Here," he said, opening my hand and dropping the two Aspirins out of his right hand into my palm. He pushed the bottle of water he'd gotten out of the mini-fridge into my other hand. As I grasped the bottle, my fingers brushed against his and my heart stopped as I felt something smooth and hard and warmer that the water, but cooler than his hand. My eyes shot open wide and I stared at the platinum ring resting on the fourth finger of his left hand.

Oh Shit!

* * *

**Ooh, a clig hanger. I** **bet you hate clif hangers. You should leave me a review and tell me just how much you dislike them. :P**


	2. Barack or Logan

"Um, thanks," I choked out. Was that ring there last night? Surely, I would have noticed that and Logan was far too happy for someone who had just cheated on his wife. Oh god, _wife_! He couldn't possibly have a wife, except that, apparently, he did. The question was, was it me? I tried to take deep breaths without seeming too freaked out. Why did he have to smile at me like that? It wasn't helping matters. What the hell was I going to do?

I knew what I _should_ do first, obviously, and technically, it should have been easy. I probably did it a hundred times a day and most of the time, I didn't even think about it. So why the heck did it seem so hard? I just needed to go ahead and get it over with. I took a deep breath and looked down at my hand…two Aspirin and one wedding ring. Oh boy!

I clutched the hand holding the water bottle to my chest and wiggled myself up into a semi-sitting position. This was Logan for god's sake! The man had naked photos of me but still, I held the blankets to me as though they were bulletproof and he was trying to strafe me.

"Anything for my beautiful, hung over wife," he said with that goofy grin still on his face. He leaned in to give me a quick peck on the lips.

I forced a smile. "That's me," I responded, chuckling nervously. I shoved the Aspirin into my mouth, and clumsily tried to crack open the bottle of water while still gripping the covers to my body. I finally succeeded and brought the water to my lips, swallowing the medicine down. Not that it would help; it was going to take a lot more than a couple of lousy, over the counter pain relievers to make this go away. Maybe a nice morphine drip would do the trick.

He must have finally noticed that there was more than a hang over going on with me because he cocked his head to the side and took a good look at me before asking, "Is everything okay, Ace?"

Damn the man to hell! Why did he have to go and use my nickname? Every time he called me that, I turned into a gooey pile of girly, lovesick mush. It was an evil weapon and I hated him for using it. How was I supposed to look into that sweet, concerned, adorable face _now _and tell him, 'no, Logan, everything's not okay; marrying you was a _huge_ mistake?'

"Yeah, of course…just a bit of a headache." I couldn't even look him in the eye. My gaze wandered around the room until they landed on the bedside table. "Crap!" I jumped out of the bed, dragging the blankets with me. The women in movies always made this look so easy. They'd stand slowly and gracefully, clutching the sheets to their bosoms and somehow, the rest of the fabric would drape perfectly, covering every non-PG inch of skin. It didn't work that way in real life, especially when you had a heavy, down comforter instead of a feather light, Egyptian cotton top sheet. Also, it didn't help when you were trying to run out on your husband the morning after your drunken, Vegas elopement. I nearly tripped and fell flat on my face as I tugged frantically on the bedding, trying to make it follow me.

"Rory?" he asked me. The goofy grin, faded into a look of concern was now one of pure panic. It made me want to poke my own eyes out with a pair of chopsticks so I never had to look into those sad, brown eyes again.

"I'm late," I told him, more to squelch my own guilt than anything else. I began stumbling around the room, wrapped up in the bedspread, looking like some sort of marshmallow-fluff-covered snack food.

"Well, it's too soon to be talking about your period," he half-joked, nervously, "so you're going to have to give me a little more here."

I stopped what I was doing and turned to look at him. Once again, his half-naked state mesmerized me, but I quickly shook it off. "Work," I replied flatly, and then immediately went back to searching the floor for my clothing.

"Work?" he asked, cautiously.

"Yes, work," I snapped at him. "You know, the whole reason I'm in Vegas in the first place."

"Right," was all he said, continuing to stand where he was and just watch me pick up my bra and stuff it in the nook of my arm along with the shirt I'd already located.

"Obama's rally starts in less than an hour and a half and I still have to get back to my motel, shower, change, and pack before I go to the campus." I bent down, reaching for my skirt.

"_Pack!?"_

"Yeah, the bus leaves right af…" I froze mid sentence, the full reality of the situation hitting me. I was supposed to be on a bus to Dallas in just a few short hours. I stood up slowly, my mind in a complete daze. What the hell now? I couldn't just skip out on the tour. If I didn't show up, then I'd get fired, but what was the alternative?

I started walking slowly towards Logan, not even realizing anymore that I had left my clothes and my down cocoon on the floor where I had been standing.

"Logan," I whispered, reaching my hand up to softly touch his cheek. He pulled away from me as though I was wielding a knife, and figuratively I supposed I was. I had just plunged it right into his heart.

"Don't," he said harshly. "I get it." It was my graduation day all over again, only maybe even worse. His voice softened from anger to pain and I loathed myself for being the cause of it. "I'll call my lawyers. It's probably best if they contact you from here on out."

"Lawyers?!" A new surge of panic suddenly washed over me.

"It will probably have to be a divorce; I'll ask them about an annulment, but I doubt we qualify considering our history."

And there was the alternative. I could get fired, or I could get divorced. This was not happening. My life did not get this screwed up in just twelve short hours. I was valedictorian of my high school, I graduated summa cum laude from Yale, I was editor-in-chief of the Yale Daily News, I was the responsible over-achiever; I did _not_ get myself into situations like this except, apparently, when Logan Huntzberger was concerned.

"Logan, no." I saw him starting to turn away from me and I grabbed for his arm. He stopped and looked at me again with a look which I could only describe as disgust on his face. It made my skin crawl as though I had some form of weird, flesh-eating bacteria covering me.

"What exactly is it that you want here, Rory? We got married last night. _Married_. And the first thing you do today is run off to your precious job with, apparently, no plans on returning."

"My _precious_ job?" I asked, incredulously. Was he serious? He knew how hard I worked my entire life to become a success in this business. He was supposed to support my dreams, not slap me across the face with them. "You know what? You're right. My job _is_ important to me. I've wanted this for as long as I can remember, long before you ever came into the picture. My mother raised me to be a strong, successful, and independent woman. Not the meek, little, house-wife to some big, successful man."

"No one's telling you not to be successful, Rory. I want you to have your dreams too, you know that, but it doesn't mean I'm willing to play second fiddle to them. You know who else put his family second to his job?"

My jaw literally dropped. He was _not_ about to say what I thought he was about to say, was he?

"Mitchum."

"That," I scowled at him, putting my hands on my hips defensively, "was low." Mitchum Huntzberger was, as far as I was concerned, the devil incarnated. He spent Logan's entire life ripping him apart, piece-by-piece, and trying to mold him into some perfect little automaton. Then I came along. I didn't fit into the life he wanted for his son, so he tore me down, and tried to mold me into the perfect, little trophy-wife. That man almost destroyed me. If there was one person in this world I hated deep down to my very core, it was him.

There was silence for a moment and then suddenly, Logan shook his head as though coming out of a daze. "Will you put some damn clothes on," he growled.

I looked down; only to be reminded of the fact that I was stark naked. And I thought _I_ had been distracted by _him_. He was at least wearing a towel. Normally, I would have been humiliated, but at that moment, I was far too angry. "Fine, you know what?" I said, turning around and walking back to the pile of clothes I had left. I made sure to bend at the waist when I picked them up, giving him a great view of my ass. "Call your damn lawyers, see if I care. I didn't even want to get married in the first place." I stepped into my skirt and started shimmying it up my legs.

"Riiiight," he replied, sarcastically. "That's why last night you said, and I quote, 'Let's get married, Logan'"

I gaped at him like one of those stupid miniature golf clowns, dropping my arms limply at my side, having just finished buckling my bra. "You make it sound like this was _my_ idea."

"It _was_ your idea, Rory. You said that you never should have said 'no' in the first place, that you wanted to spend your life with me and that you didn't want to waste another minute."

"I…"

He snorted with disdain. "You don't remember any of it, do you?"

"Oh please," I scoffed. Finally regaining motor abilities, I slipped my shirt on over my head. "Who are you to talk about black outs. You probably don't even remember a third of the _year_ you spent gallivanting around the South Pacific."

"Yeah, well, at least I didn't forget a sacred promise to 'love, honor and cherish for as long as we both shall live.'"

"I hate you," I spat at him. And I did. I hated him for being so gorgeous, smart, and funny. And I hated him for making me love him, for the fact that I couldn't stop loving him. I hated him for being right; I couldn't even remember what may have been the most important night of our lives. I couldn't imagine how hurt I would be if the tables were turned. And more than any of it, I hated myself. I had to get out of there.

I dropped onto my knees looking under the bed, being the only inch of floor in the room I hadn't checked during my initial freak out. "Where the _hell_ are my panties," I growled.

"You left them on the elevator," he scoffed.

I turned to look at him in wide-eyed horror.

"I guess you have a pretty funny way of expressing hate."

I stood up angrily. Screw my panties. "Good-bye, Logan." I spat, making my way to the door for a hasty exit.

"I hope you and your work are very happy together," I heard him call out as the door fell shut behind me.

I stalked down the hall towards the elevators, angrily jabbing my finger into the button repeatedly until the elevator opened up. As the doors slid shut, I felt all of the anger leave me. I fell against the wall in defeat. This was _not_ the happily ever after I was promised as a child. Was it my own fault? Was Logan right? Did I really put success above the people in my life?

My eyes flitted across the elevator and I felt a faint blush rise on my cheeks as the thought occurred to me that this may have been the elevator I'd lost my underwear in. I bit my lip so hard trying to distract myself from thoughts of what had led up to the missing knickers episode that I found myself tasting blood. Maybe it was for the best that I didn't remember any of it, it would only make this harder. Maybe Logan and I really weren't meant to be. If so, fate sure had a cruel way of making it known.

* * *

"Well, well, look who finally made it back," I heard Shelly sing-song as I entered the motel room. I walked right past her and went directly to my bed where my suitcase was located, surrounded by scattered clothing left over from Shelly's attempts to find me the perfect outfit the night before.

"Your bed is awfully well made for someone who was up all night tossing and turning with worry," I replied flatly, rummaging through my things, looking for something work appropriate to wear.

"Oh, I was up all night alright, and there was plenty of tossing and turning," she returned, laying the innuendo on thick even though it wasn't necessary. "But I didn't worry too much; I knew you were in good hands; especially if they were anything like Finn's."

"Well, I'm glad you two had fun." I gathered up my outfit for the rally and walked towards the bathroom without another word. Shelly moved to block my way, suddenly looking serious.

"Okay, missy, that is _not_ the attitude of a woman who just reconnected with the love of her life," she said, putting her hands up to my shoulders and pushing me backwards until I fell back onto her bed. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

I just glared at her and went to stand up again, but she pushed me right back down.

"We're going to be late," was all I said.

"Then we'll be late," she shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest stubbornly and looking down at me with determination. "We're not leaving here until you talk to me. This whole 'bottling stuff up' thing you do, it isn't healthy."

"I've had a really bad morning, Shell. I'm tired, hung over, and I'm not wearing any underwear. I just want to eat a damn burrito, crawl under the covers, and hide for the rest of my life. But I can't, so I'd really like it if you would just let me up so I can go shower and do my damn job."

"I'm sorry…" She blinked, and let her hands drop to her side. "Did you just say you weren't wearing any underwear?"

I groaned and tried to stand up again; this time she didn't stop me. "I. Don't. Want. To. Talk. About. It," I stressed.

She turned to watch me as I walked around her towards the bathroom. "You're seriously going to leave me hanging here on this, 'I'm not wearing any underwear,' comment?"

I wanted to bang my head against a wall. The girl could just not leave it alone. I should have just ignored her and continued to the sanctuary of the bathroom, but instead I spun around to face her again. "What do you want to know? You want to hear that I got feisty on an elevator because, apparently, I was too horny to make it all the way back to his room? That I just couldn't wait to consummate the marriage I don't even remember having? Is that what you want to hear?" I reached my hand into the pocket of my skirt and curled my fingers around the tiny loop of metal I'd put there, bringing it out and tossing it across the room in frustration. I watched as it bounced off the wall, hit the corner of the nightstand, and tumbled off, falling, ironically enough, into the garbage can. I collapsed to the floor in tears.

"Oh, hun," I heard Shelly whisper as she fell on her knees beside me a moment later. She wrapped her arms around me in a big hug.

"I screwed it up," I sobbed. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this. We were supposed to run into each other again when the time was right. We'd get back together and then, after a while, he'd ask me again, and I'd be ready. I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready and now…"

"I'm so sorry, Ror," she soothed, squeezing me a little bit harder.

I let her hold me for just a moment longer before I shrugged her off and tried to wipe the tears from my eyes. I stood up. "We should get ready," I said, trying to seal off the emotion in my voice.

"You know…" Shelly started, hesitantly. "Maybe you shouldn't go to the rally," she suggested.

"Of course I should go to the rally," I said flippantly, no sign of my breakdown that occurred, mere moments ago, remained. "I have to go to the rally, it's my job."

"Well technically, it's you're job to write about the rally," she replied.

"Which I can't very well do if I don't go."

"I could take notes," she offered. "Or, ooh, I have a video phone, I could tape it."

"No," I said. Didn't she understand that I couldn't miss this rally? Not now. Not after everything that had happened.

"But…"

"No," I repeated. "I'm not missing it. If I wasn't willing to miss it before…" I stopped, not having the strength to complete my sentence without breaking down. "No," I finished with a shake of my head.

Either she understood or she didn't. She accepted it anyway, because she simply nodded her head saying, "Okay."

"Okay," I repeated softly, nodding my head back at her. I closed the door to the bathroom and headed to the shower.

* * *

"Alright, folks," I heard the bus driver, Claudine, bellow as we pulled into the parking lot of the motel after the rally. I had gone, of course, but I probably should have taken Shelly up on the videophone offer anyhow. I hadn't been able to concentrate on a single word Barack Obama had said. "It's now," Claudine paused, presumably to look at her watch, "3:14. You have precisely thirty-one minutes to get your shit together and get back on the bus. So if you were hoping to learn to count cards, and pull a Rain Man, better luck next time."

The door to the bus opened up, and we all started filing off. I followed Shelly back to the room and plopped down on the bed. "Thanks again for packing my stuff." When I had gotten out of the shower earlier, I had walked back into the main room only to see that across the bed and near-by floor were all clothing-free and my suitcase was shut. Everything had probably been balled up and stuffed into it to create one big, wrinkly mess in the making, but it was the thought that counted.

"No problem," she assured me. "How are you holding up?"

I shrugged my shoulders and fell back on the bed. "I'm twenty three and my husband is divorcing me after one night of wedded 'bliss" because my level of self-centeredness rivals that of a man who once bought out an entire newspaper only to tear it apart and fire every single employee just because they had published a photo of him in a compromising position with his secretary…I'm dandy."

"Is there anything I can do?"

I shook my head, sitting back up. "I got over him once before, it'll just take some time," I told her. Of course, last time it had been a clean break, this time there would be lawyers, paperwork, and constant reminders of him until the divorce went through. I still couldn't get over the fact that I was getting divorced before I even had a chance to get over the fact that I had gotten married.

"Alright, well, I'm just gonna' hop in the shower really quickly to cool off. I'll be out in a few minutes." You could tell she was reluctant to leave me, as though I'd slit my wrists if left to my own devices for more than a three minute span.

"I'll be fine."

She nodded her head and slipped into the bathroom.

I just sat there, staring blankly at the wall. I tried to remember what had happened after Logan kissed me the previous night, but it was a complete blank. Finn's Jack had really done a number on me. How could I have possibly gotten married and not remembered any of it? Had anyone else been there? Finn had apparently spent the night with Shelly so he wasn't, but Colin, Robert and Seth were all apparently in Vegas as well. They could have attended. Had it just been a normal chapel, or had I walked down the aisle to 'Love Me Tender?' It had probably been the later; it was the perfect lead in to Heart Break Hotel.

Without thinking, I brought my right hand to touch my left ring finger, my naked, left ring finger. My head whipped around to face the direction I had tossed the band earlier. I had been so upset that I had just left it where it landed, in the trash. I stood up, scurried over to the garbage can, and nearly felt my heart pound straight through my chest wall when I realized it was empty. I glanced quickly around to see made beds and clean, previously makeup-smeared counters. It was gone. My ring was gone.

Had the maid really trashed it? There had been nothing else in that garbage. She wouldn't have changed an empty trash, would she? But what if she had seen the ring and stolen it? Crap! Crap, crap, crap! Maybe I was just mistaken; maybe the ring hadn't landed in the trash at all. Maybe it had bounced off the night stand and rolled under the bed. I got down on my hands and knees and hastily pulled up the bed skirt. I didn't see anything but it was pretty dark underneath there. I stood up and rushed over to the backpack I brought on the bus with me. I had a small reading light that attached directly to the book for reading on the bus late at night. I dug through the contents of the bag until I found it, quickly returning to the bed. I got down low, shinning the light under the bed. I moved it back and forth repeatedly, searching for any hint of reflection. I felt the tears crowding my eyes for what must have been the millionth time that day. It had to be there, it just had to be.

"Rory?"

I startled at the sound of my name and banged my head hard against the bed frame.

"Rory, hun," Shelly walked over to me and helped me up. "What's going on?"

"The maids came," I whimpered.

"And that's bad why?" she questioned.

I sniffled and pointed towards the empty plastic container sitting on the floor next to the nightstand. "They changed the garbage."

"Oh," she nodded her head in understanding. "Come here," she lead me towards the suitcase on the luggage rack and unzipped the front compartment, pulling out my makeup case. "Here." She handed it to me. I looked at her in confusion. "Open it."

I did as she instructed and then turned the bag over to dump out the contents. Out spilled mascara and blush and lipstick…and a single platinum ring. My eyes went wide and I turned to her slowly, not even sure what I was seeing was really there.

"I thought you might want to hold onto that a little bit longer." I threw my arms around her as the tears that had been building up finally flowed over.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," I whispered.

After a minute, Shelly finally pulled back. "Are you sure about this, Rory?" she asked me. "You don't have to get on the bus."

I shook my head. "He won't want to talk to me anyhow."

"You're his wife, hun." She smirked at me. "He has to listen."

My gaze shifted from Shelly to the ring on the bed. I bent down to pick it up, fingering it cautiously. Maybe she was right. Maybe I still had a chance to make this right. I looked out the window watching as the other reporters started to file back on the bus. I bit my lip thoughtfully. Barack or Logan? Work or family? Marriage or divorce? And in that moment, I made my decision.

* * *

**OK people, so how many of you thought Logan had been married to someone else? Because I have to admit that the thought hadn't even crossed my mind when I posted the last chapter. I guess that cliff hanger turned out even more cliff-hanger-y than I'd andticipated. Oops. :P**


	3. Getting Back to Good

**AN: So I'm not really sorry for the wait. I had a lot of major stuff all at once on top of the usual insanity of being a 4th year vet student. I have a _major_ exam on Thursday, kind of the vet equivilant of a law student taking the BAR. I need to pass it to get liscenced to practice and if I don't pass I have to wait until April to take it again which is a problem not only because it costs like, $1000, but becuase I graduate in January and thus won't be able to work for several months. But lucky for you, I find writing stress relieving and way more fun than studying, so after I finished the mjaor presentation and report every senior vet student is required to do, along with several smaller papers and assignments, I sat down and wrote this. Updates for the next few months might continue to be slow as I concentrate on finishing up school, finding a job, and moving. In the mean time, I give you the latest chapter of WHiV. Enjoy.**

**PS- Some of you might recall that I said this was going to be a 3 parter--apparently I lied. It's looking more like 5 parts now.**

* * *

I stood in front of his hotel room, arm poised to knock. I could do this. All I had to do was let gravity do its job and my fist would just fall to the door. I took a deep breath and moved my hand forward, stopping just centimeters away from the door.

What if he wasn't there? What if he was there but he slammed the door in my face? Shelly was wrong. Being his wife didn't stop him from slamming the door in my face. It didn't make him physically compelled to listen to me. I could be setting myself up for complete and utter humiliation here.

I paced back and forth in the hallway trying to get my courage back. Just one little knock, nothing to lose. If he hated my guts for the way I'd treated him and refused to have anything more to do with me, then I was no worse off than if I hadn't tried, right?

I took another deep breath and faced the room yet again, arm hanging in the air. Just as I was about to finally give in and knock, the door swung open and Logan backed out of the room, attempting to pull a large and uncooperative suitcase along with him. The wheel of the suitcase must have finally given in and unstuck itself as Logan stumbled back a few feet, right into me.

"Sorry," he muttered as he regained his balance. He turned to look at the person who had broken his fall. "Rory?" His face and tone were completely unreadable.

I raised my hand to give him a timid wave and smiled nervously. "Hi."

He stared at me, blinking a few times as if to be sure I was really standing there, although I couldn't tell if he preferred me to be real or imagined. "I thought you had a bus to catch," he said, finally breaking the silence.

"It's gone," I admitted, wringing my hands nervously. More silence ensued. My eyes traveled down, once again registering the suitcase in his hand. "Are you…are you going somewhere?" I asked tentatively. He couldn't be, not after the screaming match we'd had that morning about _me_ leaving.

"I managed to book an earlier flight back to San Francisco. I didn't feel much like staying here any longer than I had to. Colin was a bit disappointed, but he understood." I bit my lip nervously.

"Oh, well…I…umm…" I'm an articulate little reporter, aren't I? The truth was I knew what to say, what I _had_ to say; I was just having trouble because I knew I had no right to ask. But maybe there were times in our lives where we just had to put ourselves out there and ask for what we wanted whether we deserved it or not. That theory didn't really appeal to me in all honesty. I was the kind of person who worked hard for what they wanted in life and believed that you should earn what you got. That's why I'd hated Logan so much in the beginning; he got everything he wanted handed to him on a silver platter. It wasn't fair. Of course the more I thought about it, the more I realized that while Logan took a lot of things for granted, there were plenty of things that I took for granted as well, a loving family, a support system, the freedom to make my own choices in life. So maybe we had to work for what we wanted, but maybe sometimes all we had to do was ask. In that moment, looking at Logan's face, I knew I wouldn't get what I wanted unless I came right out and asked for it. If he gave me another chance, I could earn it later. I breathed deeply, squinted my eyes shut…and put myself at his mercy.

"Don't go."

"Excuse me?" he scoffed.

"Don't go," I repeated.

"Oh, that's rich, Rory." He shook his head in disbelief. "You're asking _me_ not to go?"

I sighed in frustration, at him for not letting me say my piece, at me for screwing up my second chance while I had it, at Barack Obama for having to travel all over the freaking country, and at fate for being so cruel. "Listen, I know I have no right to ask you that—"

"Damn straight you have no right," he barked. "You're the one who was so desperate to get three states away from me only a few hours ago. What are you even doing here?"

"I was scared, okay?" I blurted out. "I was scared and I freaked out, and I ran away. I screwed up. I know that. But I'm here now, doesn't that count for anything?" He was silent. Apparently it didn't count. "Do you remember that time when we were apart, after that big blow out at Rich Man's Shoe?" We'd fought, badly. We didn't speak for a long time. I figured we just needed a break; he thought we were 'broken up'. I found out through his sister.

"You're seriously bringing that up? You want to throw Walker and Alexandra in my face too?" Walker and Alexandra, Honor's friends, were another big fight between us after I found out he'd slept with them during the aforementioned split. Not that it mattered; it wasn't my point at all.

"That's not what I meant, Logan. I'm not trying to point out what you've done wrong. We've both made our share of mistakes, but that's not what matters. What matters is what you did right."

He squinted at me in confusion. I could tell I'd intrigued him, convinced him to hear me out just a bit longer. It was a step. He was waiting for me to continue, so I did. "When I got back to school in January, you were there. You were everywhere. You bought me flowers, and coffee carts; you talked to my Mom. But more importantly, you didn't take 'no' for an answer. You believed in us. You believed we were worth fighting for."

"I was a naïve kid, Rory."

"No," I shook my head, "you were a man. You were a man who knew what he wanted." He gave me an incredulous stare and I caved. "Fine, you were a naive kid. But you were a happy, naive kid. I mean…we were happy, weren't we?"

He sighed wearily, looking for all the world as though he had lived a hundred years in the body of a twenty-five year old. "We _were_." He replied, pointedly.

"So let's be happy again," I pleaded.

"It's not that easy."

"Why not?" I practically whined. It was a miracle I didn't stomp my foot too.

"Because you don't really want to be married to me." I was shocked. I hadn't expected him to actually call me out on that. Stupid, I know, but I really hadn't. He gave me a chance to recover when an older man with graying hair pushed passed us, reminding me that we were still in the hallway.

"Can we go inside?" I asked, uncomfortably, motioning to the room. He didn't move.

"Answer my question." I didn't bother to point out that it wasn't a question. He knew.

"I want to be with you, Logan." I replied truthfully.

"But you don't want to be married to me."

"I love you."

"But you don't want to be married to me," he repeated.

"Yes, I do," this time I _did_ stomp my foot.

"Say it," he insisted.

I looked down shamefully. I couldn't. I couldn't lie to him like that. The truth was I still felt like I wasn't ready to be married, but that didn't mean I didn't want to be with him. I did. I wanted to be with him so badly and if that meant staying married, then I would stay married. "Maybe you're right," I admitted softly looking back up at him, worrying my lip. "Maybe getting married wasn't on my to-do list but, like it or not, we _are_ married now. So, I'm willing to stay that way if it means being with you."

He scoffed. "Yeah, just what every guy wants to hear, 'I'll settle for being your wife.'"

"What do you want me to say, Logan?"

"I want you to say that you're in love with me and you want to spend the rest of your life with me. I want you to say that you want to become the best damn journalist the world has ever seen but that you want to do it from one spot. That at the end of the day you want to come home to me. I want you to say that you want to have 2.5 kids and a dog in a yard with a white picket fence. God, I sound like such a girl, but that's what I want damn it, but most of all; I want you to mean it.

"I _do_," I insisted. "I want _all_ of that, just not yet. God, why is that so hard for you to understand?"

"It's not about understanding, Rory. It's about believing. I wish I could believe you."

"Then believe me," I pleaded, gently. "We're starting fresh right now, new beginning."

He let out a half laugh, half snort. "That's exactly what you said last night."

I stepped forward, bringing my hand to cup his cheek. I could hear his breath hitch and I knew that my invasion of his personal space was wearing down his resolve. "Then maybe you should listen," I suggested softly.

"I listened last night and look where that got us." He turned his head further into the caress of my hand, his body betraying his words. A part of me felt bad for what I was about to do, but I was desperate. This was the only thing that was working.

"I'm here, Logan." I took a step closer to him until our bodies were touching. I noticed him close his eyes and swallow as he tried to make his body stop reacting of its own accord. "My bus is gone with my job and most of my clothes. I have nowhere else to go, because I came _here_, to you. You would turn me away?"

"Rory," he replied, his voice low and husky. I wasn't sure what he was planning on following it up with, but I wasn't going to take the chance that it wasn't in my favor. I slid the hand that was on his cheek to behind his head and pulled it towards me until our lips connected. For a moment, I could feel him fighting his desire to respond. I bit down lightly on his bottom lip and then teased it with my tongue the way I had learned to during our three years together. As though by reflex, his mouth opened and my tongue immediately entered. It was relatively quick; we were still in the hall after all. I pulled away ever so slightly, leaving my hand on the back of his head. My was body pressed to his, trying to maintain the influence I had over him. "You really left your job?" he asked, breathily.

"Well, technically, they left me. They should be half way to Flagstaff by now."

"Are you serious?" He meant about us, not about the job, although it was pretty much the same thing since I would never have made such a sacrifice otherwise. I nodded my head. He stared at me for a moment and I felt like I was going to implode if he didn't say something soon. It turned out he didn't need to say anything at all. He grabbed my waist, pulled me into the hotel room and kicked the door shut behind us. In an instant, his lips were on mine again. I felt like squealing as though I were a 13-yearold teenybopper at a Justin Timberlake concert. I tried to tell myself that sex wasn't going to solve our problems, but the giddy, little girl inside of me just wouldn't listen. At the very least, I knew I had my in. Logan would have to at least give me a chance now. He was too much of a gentleman to sleep with me and then kick me out. Even when he had fifty gazillion girlfriends at once, he never would have kicked one of them out of bed. He always made each and every one of them feel like the only girl alive. Even when he'd been a complete rouge, he'd always been a complete gentleman.

He pushed me back against the door and continued to explore my mouth with his tongue as though trying to relearn every nook and cranny. His hand grasped at the fabric of my shirt, trying to pull me as close to him as humanly possible, and I obligingly arched my back to press our bodies closer.

I still had one hand around his neck and I brought the other one up underneath his shirt, clawing at his back. "Bed," I whispered, trying to push away from the door and maneuver us towards the piece of furniture in question. Instead of going along with it, Logan just pushed me back up against the wall and let his hand lazily caress my side. I knew what he was doing. He had given in to my advances and he couldn't find it in himself to push me away, so he was taking control the only way he could. I wanted to feel him inside of me so badly and I didn't think I could wait, but I knew I had to. I had to let him be in charge.

His hand ran down my side and back up again, slipping beneath the hem of my shirt as it did so. He paused on my breast and ran his thumb over my nipple through my bra. I moaned into his mouth. His second hand joined the first underneath my shirt and he pushed the fabric up and over my head, letting it flutter to the floor by our sides. His hands immediately went back to the sides of my breasts. He followed the band of my bra around to the back and undid all three clasps with a single flick of his wrist. I let the bra slip down my arms and pool on the floor. He traced his hands down my curves until they met the hem of my jeans at my hips. His fingers dipped into the waistband and slid around to my front, where he popped the button open, sliding the zipper down.

He placed a kiss below my ear, and then another one in the hollow of my throat. He trailed his tongue down to the valley between my breasts. His lips left midline and traveled up over one of my mounds to flick his tongue over my nipple. I couldn't control myself. I let my hands move up to his head to weave their way into his golden locks, pressing his mouth further onto me. He nipped lightly and I hissed as his tongue soothed the sting that he had created. He continued his trail downward. He reached my belly button and let his tongue dip inside as he finally moved his hands to push my jeans and panties to the floor.

He settled to his knees in front of me as he slipped the last of my clothing off my feet along with my shoes. I stood before him, completely naked and he slowly lifted his gaze to take me all in; I felt completely vulnerable under his scrutiny, especially since he was still fully dressed. That was what he wanted, of course, for me to be as vulnerable for him as he was for me. He didn't know that I already was. I fought the sudden urge to cross my arms over my chest for coverage.

His gaze lingered for a few moments more. He grabbed me behind my knees and stroked the underside of my thighs. His left hand applied a bit more pressure as he raised my leg and draped it over his shoulder. I felt him kissing up the inside of my leg and his hands continued to caress my thighs and butt. I knew what was coming, and when I felt him drag him warm, wet tongue over my center, I thrust my hips and grabbed for his hair. "Fuck."

"I love it when you talk dirty," he whispered into my folds. "I love that I'm the only one who gets to see that side of you."

"Only you," I promised through my panting. I could feel myself getting close though he'd barely even started. Six months without sex could do that to a girl.

"Do you trust me?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes," I answered automatically, not even bothering to wonder where the question had come from. I trusted him completely.

He pushed my leg off his shoulder and stood up. "Logan," I whined. That was not how I expected him to respond to that declaration. The pressure between my legs was so strong I didn't think I could move, being left me without my release. I swear that's what it must have been like, if I can be so crass, to have blue balls.

"Come on," he tugged on my hand, pulling me over to the bed and pushing me back on it. Oh god, what was he going to do to me? But I trusted him, right? Right. I took a deep breath and lay back on the bed.

He walked over to the dresser by the bed and pulled open a drawer, extracting something shiny from within. My first thought, of course, was 'what the hell does he have handcuffs for?' but I couldn't ask him that after having just told him I trusted him. I tried not to freak out; there had to be a rational explanation for why he had handcuffs in his hotel room in Vegas. Apparently, I wasn't doing a very good job of hiding my trepidation.

"We had Colin's bachelor party in here the other night. They got left behind." Right, a bachelor party, for Colin, so there was a stripper in the room. That was a good reason for the handcuffs, one that completely didn't bother me at all. Even if she was all over Logan, we weren't together at the time, so it didn't matter. But it was Colin's bachelor party anyhow, so he was the one getting the lap dance, not Logan. Plus, I had to admit, it was at least a relief to know they hadn't been packed away for the trip back to San Francisco. So yeah, I was completely okay with this. "I thought you said you trusted me," he sighed.

"I do," I sat up to face him.

"Nothing happened."

"It doesn't matter if it did," I told him, touching his cheek softly with the back of my fingers. "But I believe you."

He nodded his head, accepting my answer. "Lay back," he instructed.

I did as he asked. He climbed on top of me, placing his hands on my shoulders and running them down my arms. He grasped me gently by the wrists and lifted my arms over my head. I felt cold metal clasp around one of my hands, and heard the sound of the cuffs against the wood of the headboard as he laced them through the bars. I felt them encircle my remaining hand. I bit my lip nervously. I _did_ trust him, but I hated not being in control.

He slid back down until his face was hovering over mine and bent down to give me a kiss. I felt the previous twinge of nervousness flee my body and it was replaced with anticipation. Although I _still _really wished he would take some of his own clothing off. Weren't the handcuffs enough of a power-play? "Logan?"

"Hmm?" he hummed as he kissed his way down my neck.

"Are you going to take your clothes off?"

"Eventually," he chuckled, placing a kiss in the crook of my neck. His hands moved to my breasts and he gave them both a little squeeze then flicked his thumbs over my nipples. I sucked in air and arched my back. His hands relocated to my hips to hold me down as he continued to worship my mounds with his mouth.

"God, I missed you," he whispered. It was a good thing his face was buried in my cleavage because I probably looked like a complete idiot with the goofy grin that graced my face. He began kissing down my body. "For months I dreamed of you every night."

I sighed as he approached my center, lifting my legs and slinging them over his shoulders, apparently intent on finishing what he'd started over by the door. "I fantasized about you showing up on my door step and begging me to take you back." He kissed the inside of my thigh, his hands caressing my ass. "And now, just as I was starting to move on with my life…"

"I showed up on your door step, begging you to take me back," I finished breathily.

"And now," he kissed my other thigh. "I don't even know if I can."

"What!?" I instinctively went to sit up but, of course, I couldn't get more than a couple of inches off the mattress. Logan didn't even seem to notice as his tongue darted out of his mouth, licking my core. "Fuck!" My head fell back down on the pillows.

"Last night and this morning I was convinced I was having another one of my dreams. I just kept thinking it was too good to be true." He swirled his tongue around and I moaned involuntarily. "I was right about the last part." I tried to freak out about what he was saying but I couldn't even think straight. The vibration of his lips against my folds was beyond anything I'd ever felt before.

"But god, you're like a fucking addiction, Rory." He nibbled ever so lightly on my nub. "Even when I know I'm going to get burned, I just can't stay away. I just can't say no."

"No…I…I…" I couldn't speak. I couldn't find the words to tell him that the last thing I wanted was to hurt him again, not because it wasn't true, but because the part of my cerebrum responsible for speech seemed to be taking a vacation to the land of mind-blowing pleasure.

"And no matter how much I know I need to quit the habit, I just can't seem to." His tongue darted inside of me and back out again. "And more importantly, I don't want to." In and out.

"God, Logan." In and out, in, he twirled it around, and I felt every muscle in my body tighten as I spiraled over the edge.

He let his tongue lick over me one more time before setting my legs down and moving back up my body to kiss me square on my mouth, letting me taste myself on him. His hands traced over my entire body for a minute as he continued to kiss me. He pushed himself up after a moment and finally, _finally_ lifted his shirt over his head. He returned his lips to mine as he unbuckled his belt and pants, but sat up again to push them off his body.

He settled over me, burying his head in the crook of my shoulder and supporting his body weight on his forearms. I wished I could touch him, hold him, feel the taught muscles of his back under my finger tips, but I couldn't. I ran my foot up his leg, entwining them together in search of that extra touch of intimacy.

Without another word, I felt him enter me. "Fuck," he grunted, "so good, so tight." He slid back out and pushed into me again. It was painstakingly slow. "God, Rory."

I wrapped my legs around him and lifted my hips, trying to quicken the pace, but he resisted. "Faster, Logan," I pleaded.

"So good, baby, so good," he mumbled, continuing to take his sweet time.

"Faster, Logan, please, god, faster." Just when I truly believed I couldn't take the slow torture a moment longer, he finally picked up the pace, driving us towards the brink. It only took a few of these faster thrusts to have us screaming out each other's names in ecstasy.

He collapsed on top of me for a moment before rolling off to the side, panting in exhaustion.

"Logan?" I said, once I had caught my breath enough.

"Hmm?"

"My hands…" I reminded him.

He turned on his side to look at me. "I don't know," he replied. "I kind of like you like this, you can't run away."

I bit my lip at his harsh words, trying to keep it together. "Sorry," he said, after a moment, leaning over me to grab the key off the night stand. "That was out of line." He freed me from the bondage and I brought my hands in front of me, rubbing the soreness from my wrists.

"No, I deserved that, just…"

"What?"

"What you said… when you were…you know. Did you mean it?"

He looked at me in confusion.

Apparently I was going to have to elaborate. "About not knowing if you could take me back."

He let out an audible sigh. "Look, Rory…" he started.

I felt my heart imploding on itself. It was true; he wasn't going to take me back. It was like pity sex or something. "I see," I replied, forcing back the tears in my eyes. I sat up, not even bothering to try the whole blanket thing again after that morning's fiasco. "I'll just…" I swung my legs over the edge of the bed.

"Rory, stop," he told me, but I wasn't about to sit around and listen to him break my heart.

"Rory, will you just stop running the hell away," he grabbed my arm and pulled me back into the bed. "God, I really am going to have to keep you handcuffed to the damn bed at this rate." He mumbled. I sniffled back my sobs. He took a deep breath. "I don't think I can take having you break my heart again."

"I don't want to break you heart…" I immediately interjected. "Logan, I—," He silenced me with a finger to my lips.

"I don't think I can take it anymore," he repeated. "So if we're going to give this a shot, you have to promise me that you're in it 100 percent."

My eyes widened considerably and I nodded my head enthusiastically. "Yes," I promised, "100 percent, Rory Huntzberger all the way." I crossed my heart. He smiled at me. "What?"

"Nothing." He shook his head.

"So we're really going to do this?"

He sighed audibly. "Call me a glutton for punishment, but…I'm in if you are."

"I'm in."

"You sure, you're not going to regret being tied down before you're ready?"

"Hey, pushing me to do crazy things is what you do best," I told him, but suddenly realized how what I said might have sounded. "Not that being your wife is crazy," I corrected. "Because, it's not. It's—"

"I get it Rory," he interrupted my ramble.

"I just mean, sometimes things happen that we're not ready for and you just have to get ready and embrace it. So…" I said, rolling onto my front and throwing my arm over his stomach. I nuzzled my head into his shoulder. "I'm embracing it." I tilted my face up to look at him. "I love you, and that's what matters."

Smiling at me, he leaned down for a chaste kiss. "Good."

We stayed that way for a few minutes, as I silently enjoyed the feel of being wrapped up in him again. Eventually, however, I knew I had to speak. "Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"What now?"

He sighed and I felt it in the rise and fall of his chest. "Well, I think I missed that earlier flight," he attempted to lighten the mood.

"Yeah," I agreed.

"Next one leaves tomorrow night at 6. I'm supposed to head back to San Francisco to finish up some work before flying to Connecticut on Friday for the wedding."

I bit my lip hesitantly. "I can use that time to spiff up my resume and start looking around for a job." A part of me had been hoping I could finish up on the campaign trail but that didn't seem like an option anymore. I promised him 100 percent and that's what I would give him.

I felt him tense for a moment but then he relaxed and simply said, "Spiff?"

"Yes, spiff." I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him. "'To make attractive, stylish, or up to date.' It's a perfectly valid word."

"I never said it wasn't," he chuckled.

I flopped back down onto the bed. "Logan?" I asked.

"Hmm?"

"Did you wind up getting that house with the avocado tree?"

* * *

I stared at the screen before me but the words were all a blur. It was nearly 5AM and my eyes had never felt so heavy. Logan had fallen asleep five hours ago and I had been working on my article ever since. I didn't want him to think that I wasn't serious about this, but I couldn't _not_ write the article. It wouldn't be fair to Hugo. I hoped he'd be able to find someone to cover for me on such short notice. I felt guilty for just bailing on him. I reminded myself of Logan, our house, and our avocado tree. First thing in the morning, I would call Hugo and let him know, but first, I had to finish the article.

"Rory?" _Shit! _I hurriedly snapped my laptop closed as I heard Logan's groggy voice pierce the silence.

"Shh, go back to bed sweetie," I told him.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I'll be right there."

"Rory," he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up to walk over to me. _Crap, crap, crap. _"What are you doing on the computer at…" he glanced at the clock. "4:57 in the morning?" I bit my lip nervously as he lifted the top of the computer to see my article appear before his face.

"I had to," I blurted out. "Hugo is counting on me, and you were asleep, so it's not like I was interrupting our time together—"

"Get up, he instructed," nudging me out of the desk chair.

"Are you mad?" I asked as I stood up, trying to hide the panic in my voice. "You're mad, aren't you? I'm sorry, I didn't…" he sat down in my place. "What are you doing?"

"Which part is it?" he asked.

"Which part is what?" I asked with a furrowed brow. I was suddenly very confused.

"The part that hasn't gotten the Rory Gilmore seal of approval and is keeping you from getting a decent nights sleep."

"Huntzberger."

"Huh?

"Rory Huntzberger seal of approval," I corrected him. He turned away from the computer to face me and pulled me down into his lap.

"Rory Huntzberger," he amended with a sleepy smile. Apparently he wasn't mad.

I snuggled my head into his shoulder and pointed at the troublesome paragraph. "I'm trying to stay neutral, but I just can't seem to hit this point without letting my biases shine through," I explained.

He read what was on the screen, letting a few 'hmms' and 'huhs' escape his lips. After a few moments, he highlighted the paragraph and started typing something new in. "How's that?" he asked after he was done with his revision.

I read through the changes. "You always were a better writer than me," I pouted.

"Right," he laughed. "That's why you got all the front page articles."

"That's because you never _wrote_ any articles," I reminded him, poking him in the chest.

"Oh, yeah." There was a pause in the conversation. "Rory?" he asked after a moment of silence.

"Yeah?"

"Why were you hiding this from me?"

I sighed. "I didn't want you to think I was picking work over you. You're the most important thing to me, I promise. But I had this responsibility to Hugo and I am leaving him high and dry for the next few events until he can find someone new so—"

"You should go back on the tour," he said, cutting me off.

"Really?" I asked, disbelievingly.

"Yeah," he nodded his head.

"It would probably only be a few weeks until he can find a replacement and then—"

"No."

"No?"

"You should go back for good." My eyes went wide and I sat up straight at his proclamation.

"But you…us…" I pointed back and forth between the two of us.

"You love your job, Rory. I can tell. You love the crowded smelly, bus, the roach infested motels, you love seeing the country, and you love being right there for every word Barack Obama says. I can see it in this article." He pointed towards the laptop. "And I could see it in every other article you wrote on the tour. You love your job."

"I love you more." I assured him.

"Look, I'm sorry about what I said this morning," he told me. His hand ran up and down my arm soothingly until I relaxed back into him. "I was out of line, especially when I compared you to my Dad. You're nothing like him, and I never wanted to make you think you had to choose between your work and me. It just really hurt that after everything that happened; your first thought was to run off to work."

I shifted on his lap so that I was straddling him, and could look him straight in the eye. "I wasn't running to work," I told him honesty. "I mean, I was in the literal sense, but not really. I was just so overwhelmed and I freaked out. Work was just a convenient excuse."

"I know. I know _you._ You need time to think through every little pro and con, and you avoid confrontation like the plague. I get that, just…in the heat of the moment…it hurt."

"I'm sorry," I leaned forward to rest my forehead on his. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"I know." He leaned his head back so our lips would meet briefly. "So it's settled then. We'll get you a ticket to Dallas tomorrow."

"You don't have to do this, Logan," I assured him. "I can find a job in San Francisco."

"And you will; in a year when the campaign is over. And we'll spend every holiday between now and then together." I bit my lip tentatively…Mom wasn't going to like that very much. Apparently he noticed my face, but he must have been more amused than mad because he laughed at me. "Don't worry; we can spend most of them together in Stars Hollow."

"Really?" I asked with a huge smile on my face. He nodded his head in confirmation. "You know me so well."

"Can we go back to sleep now?" he asked.

"Yeah," I agreed. Sleep sounded wonderful. I got up off his lap and helped him out of the chair. We made our way over to the bed and got in together, snuggling closely. "Logan?" I asked, as I felt my eyes getting droopy."

"Huh?"

"Are we good now?"

I felt his chest rise and fall. "Not really, Rory," he answered honestly. "But we will be."

I accepted his answer, knowing it would have to be enough for now. After all, we had the rest of our lives to get back to good.

* * *

review please 0:)


	4. Differnt Cliche

**

* * *

AN: So I finally managed to get this chapter out. Life's been in a bit of an upheaval lately, but guess what? Now I'm Dr. AminalLuv--we technically my graduation date isn't until the 1/31 but I've finished all my course work and at all my interviews they're calling me Dr. It's a bit weird actually. It's going to be even weirder when I actually start bringing home a pay check. Of course pretty much all of it (or at least 1/4) will be going to pay off student loans. Vet school is expensive, go figure. Well enough about me.**

**I don't think I've thanksed my Beta in a couple chapters, so thank you Rayc Petite for making me look like I actually know where the commas go.**

**Oh, and one last thing...happy late birthday, Mariana.**

* * *

My gaze scanned over the crowded airport as I sat, fidgeting, in the hard plastic seat of the terminal. Even the airport in Vegas was packed with the infamous one-armed bandits—incase you had any last minute cash you wanted to capriciously dispose of. The slot machines were occupied by a wide array of patrons—from a little, blue-haired, old lady, to a twenty-something, leather-clad biker (wasn't he hot in the 90 degree desert that surrounded us?)—and everything in between.

"This sucks," I mumbled as I laced my fingers with those of the man in the seat next to mine. I needed to feel his presence, but I still refused to look at him; if I looked at him, I would have to acknowledge the fact that he was about to get on a plane going in the opposite direction of mine.

I continued to examine the gamblers. They all seemed to have one thing in common—besides the fact that they were losing—they all appeared to be alone. Were they gambling to fill the void left by a loved one lost? Or perhaps they were so busy looking for the easy riches and the quick high of winning that they missed the opportunity to share their lives with someone who cared about them. Was I one of them? Were journalistic aspirations my jackpot—so much so that I was willing to sacrifice real love and happiness? My dreams and goals were important to me, that much would never change, but I couldn't keep hiding behind them. So, I had to make some sacrifices; being with Logan was worth it, right? Then why was everything about this situation still so hard?

"I know," he replied, squeezing my hand, "but we'll see each other in less than a week," he reminded me. I was scheduled to fly out to New York on a red-eye Friday night for the wedding. I'd miss the dress rehearsal, but I'd be there in time for the actual ceremony.

I imagined Steph would look beautiful in her designer gown—white taffeta with just the right amount of lace and beading to make her look every bit the blushing bride without looking tacky, a mile long train and a corset top with a sweetheart neckline accenting her curves. We'd eat the most delicious red-velvet cake with cream cheese icing and dance to a brilliant band that sounded exactly like Bon Jovi as they performed Thank You for Loving Me. The reception hall would be decorated with hundreds of white lilies. And when it was all over and done with, Stephanie would remember every moment of her perfect day.

After the wedding, I had to fly to Atlanta to cover another campaign stop. We had a couple more places on the trail after that before getting the week off for the holiday. Of course, with it being Thanksgiving, it meant I would have to see my mom. Normally, I would be really happy about that since Mom and I were always so close, but I had a feeling things wouldn't be business as usual between us after I told her what had happened over the past couple of days. Mom had never been Logan's biggest fan, and she was more than relieved when she found out I had rejected his proposal after my graduation. I was not looking forward to her reaction when I informed her we had gotten married after all.

"Flight 2113 to San Francisco now boarding business class," the static-y voice announced over the intercom.

"That's me," Logan sighed, shifting in his seat to face me.

"It's only first call," I pouted, finally looking him in the eye. "We've still got time." I ran my hand lightly down his chest. I wasn't ready for him to leave.

He raised his eyebrows at me mockingly. "Oh?" he questioned. "And what do you suggest we do with that time, Mrs. Huntzberger?"

"I'm sure there's an unlocked janitor's closet somewhere around here," I playfully flirted. I obviously had no real intentions of stealing Logan away for some clandestine, farewell sex, but a part of me really did wish that the airport, the travelers, and the baggage could all disappear and it could just be him and me—together. I wanted to feel his gentle caress and see his brown eyes staring straight into me; I wanted to hear the way the word "Ace" breathily rolled off his tongue as his body merged with mine.

Logan was right; we weren't okay. All weekend we had tip-toed around one another, each afraid to say the things that were on our minds in case it upset the precarious balance of our reconciliation. Our conversations were stilted and awkward and our silences weren't comfortable the way they once were. The only times in the last two days that we had felt normal were the times we were making love.

"Jeez, what happened to the innocent, doe-eyed reporter who blushed profusely after inadvertently threatening to stalk me?" he asked, stilling my hand with his own, and placing them both in his lap.

"She met this really hot guy who thoroughly corrupted her."

"Well, you'll have to give this mystery man my thanks."

I chuckled softly, trying to ignore the subtle unease that lay beneath our once effortless banter. "I'll let Pedro know you appreciate his work."

"Ah, so this is a Latin lover, then; I should have known."

"We'll, they're the best," I shrugged. We fell into a discomfited silence. I lay my head on his shoulder.

"I really need to go now," he said, after they announced his flight yet again. I lifted my head to look at him. He leaned forward to press his forehead to mine.

"I know," I admitted.

"You'll call me when you get to Dallas?"

"Of course," I promised, blinking back my tears.

"Good." He extended his neck until his lips touched mine for a chaste kiss. He squeezed my hand, before dropping it, and standing up. "I'll talk to you in a few hours then." He reached down to tuck an imaginary stray hair behind my ear. I picked a made-up piece of lint off of his designer t-shirt; anything to make contact—to prolong our time together. But eventually he had to leave. He backed away slowly, grabbing his wheel-able carry-on and pulling it with him. He handed the flight attendant his boarding pass without tearing his gaze from me. As he disappeared into the tunnel, I just sat there and watched.

I stayed in my seat and stared through the giant windows for another half an hour until the plane finally began to taxi away towards the runway and disappeared. I eventually glanced down at my watch, hoping it would be about time for me to board my plane. Unfortunately, the timepiece informed me that I had at least forty-five minutes—not nearly enough to justify postponing the inevitable phone call I had to make.

With a sigh, I pulled out my cell phone. Nervously, I flipped it open and closed as I tried to gather the courage to place the call. It was so easy, all I had to do was hold down the "2" key—speed dial one was reserved for 911—and let it ring. This wasn't supposed to be hard. I had married the man I loved; I should have been shouting it off of roof tops, not staring at my phone afraid to tell the one person who had loved me since before I was born. The longer I put off telling her, the worse it would be. She would be upset, but she'd accept the news in time. Logan had even been growing on her before the break-up; maybe she'd actually learn to like him—really like him.

I took a deep breath and pressed the button. It only took two rings before I heard the familiar voice. "International House of Lederhosen."

"Lederhosen, Mom?" I questioned, not the least bit surprised by her randomness.

"Well, we were watching the World Yodeling Championships and Paul Anka was very taken by the wardrobe."

"I think your dog needs to go see a shrink," I advised.

"Oh, shush, you. Stop mocking my dog and tell me about Vegas. Did you become a gambling addict? Did some billionaire offer you a million dollars to spend the night with him? Did you win the jackpot? Did you party with Paris and Lindsay?"

I swallowed uncomfortably, realizing she was a few flippant questions away from inadvertently stumbling on the truth. Maybe if I let her keep going it would save me the trouble of actually having to say it. Squeezing my eyes shut and taking a deep breath to calm myself down, I finally gained enough control over my nerves to speak. "Umm, different cliché," I prodded.

"Ooh, intriguing…Did you get offered a job as a show girl? I can totally see you all dolled up in feathers and sequins playing the beautiful assistant to a magician performing a death defying stunt."

Mom's enthusiasm was almost infectious…almost. I couldn't quite get into the spirit knowing that it would all be gone the moment I spilled the beans about my impromptu wedding.

I chuckled nervously. "Nope, no sequins." At least I hoped there were no sequins involved—except maybe on Elvis's suit. Strike that…I hoped there were no Elvises—Elvi?—involved, either. God, how demeaning was it that I could have possibly been married by an Elvis impersonator—not only because it was an Elvis impersonator, but because 'possibly' meant I didn't even know. I hadn't had the nerve to ask Logan and reinforce the fact that I couldn't remember.

"Oh, oh!" she shouted out. "I've got it! Did you fall in love with a tall, dark and handsome stranger and elope in the Las Vegas Garden of Love? Will Mommy get to see your wedding on The Learning Channel?"

_Gulp!_

"Well…" I hesitated, "…not exactly."

"Was he short, fat, and ugly? What did I tell you about ugly grandchildren, Rory," Mom scolded playfully.

"No, no fat or ugly genes will be mixing with mine," I promised uneasily. If there were two things that Logan wasn't…it was fat and ugly, that, and poor. "And he wasn't a stranger, either…" I added softly, almost inaudibly.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Mom?" I whispered.

More silence reverberated through the phone line for a few moments before, "You got married?" I could hear the tinge of anger hiding behind the disbelief.

"Uh, yeah," I admitted guiltily. I knew this had to be hard for her to hear. I could only think about how I had felt when she had eloped in Paris with my Dad. I had been so angry that she had done something so monumental without me there. Add to that her less than stellar feelings about Logan and I knew this reaction was just the beginning.

"Wha—?…Who—?...How" Lorelai stuttered.

"Mom, just…"

"I didn't even know you were _seeing_ anyone on the tour."

"I'm _wasn't_…" I assured her. "I'm not."

"Then who the hell could you have possibly bound yourself for life to?" she hissed angrily.

"Mom, just…I ran into some…It just….It was Logan," I stuttered, the last part hardly a whisper. There was more silence on the line. The hubbub of the airport around me sounded barely more than an annoying hum as I waited for her to respond. "Mom?"

"I don't even know what to say to this, Rory, I'm speechless. You have rendered me incapable of speech. It takes a lot to make a Gilmore Girl speechless, but congratulations, because you've succeeded. How the hell could you do this?"

"I don't know," I pleaded.

"You don't know?" she scoffed disbelievingly. "Oh, that makes me feel so much better—my daughter eloped with her ex and she doesn't know how it happened, real nice."

"I just ran into him, it was awkward and uncomfortable, and then there was Finn's whiskey, and the next thing I know I'm hung over in his hotel room wearing nothing but a wedding band."

"So you're getting it annulled then?" she asked pointedly.

I worried my bottom lip anxiously. "Not exactly," I admitted, shifting in my seat uncomfortably.

"Oh, you aren't able to get it annulled? You're getting a divorce then, my twenty-three year old daughter, the divorcee, ladies and gentlemen."

"Mom," I interrupted her ramble.

"Oh my God, where are you?"

"Mom," I tried again.

"Where. Are. You?" she repeated slowly.

"Vegas," I sighed, feeling my shoulders droop helplessly.

"Vegas? _Vegas?_" she screeched.

"Mom, it's not like it sounds,"

"Oh really, so you're not supposed to have a job in Dallas tomorrow? The Barack bus just decided to take an extended vacation in Vegas so you could snuggle with your honey?"

"Will you stop acting so irrationally?"

"I'm the irrational one, Rory? Are you serious? Because I'm not the one who eloped with my ex whose proposal I turned down just six months ago, and I'm not the one who left her job for a guy."

"No, you just eloped with the father of your child whose multiple proposals you continually rejected—and I didn't quit my job," I added. I conveniently left out the part where I almost _had_ given up the tour.

She ignored the personal barb—it wasn't like it was my best argument anyhow, considering how things turned out for her and Dad. "So, what, you were planning on teleporting yourself to Dallas?"

"Actually, I was planning on taking one of these new-fangled contraptions they're calling airplanes."

"And your husband?" she inquired.

"Just got on a plane back to San Francisco," I informed her.

"Well, sounds like you two have got a quality marriage there, Ror."

"It's not going to be easy," I confessed, "But we discussed it and we decided that this was what was best for both of us. We've done long distance before, we can do it again."

"Yeah, you did long distance with your boyfriend who you were on stable ground with. You didn't do long distance with a husband you barely know anymore. You told him 'no' the first time for a reason. You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, kid," she tried to reason, but the obvious anger made the argument lack credibility.

"Oh, so now you _want_ me to leave my job to be with him?" I pointed out the incongruity of her argument.

"No, what I want is for my daughter to act like the responsible adult I raised her to be, to not get drunk, and throw her life away on a whim—but I guess it's a bit late for that."

"You're right," I told her, "It _is_ too late. But maybe I didn't throw my life away; maybe I just finally had the courage to do what I should have done months ago. I love Logan, and maybe you're too self-centered to realize this, but love is about making sacrifices. I should have never let him go."

"I can't talk to when you're like this," she scoffed. "Call me when you've returned the sane, responsible Rory." And with that, she hung up the phone. Yep, that call was just as fun as I'd expected. With a heavy sigh, I flipped my phone closed, tossed it into my purse, and slumped down in my seat until it was time to board the plane.

**--**

I made my way through the crowded baggage claim area. Luckily, I didn't have to wait for my luggage since all but my backpack had been on the bus when I'd gone after Logan. At least I hadn't needed very many clothes over the weekend. I pretty much lived in the hotel bathrobe when I was wearing anything at all. We'd left the room a couple of times, mostly for food, but I'd just get back into the robe and send my clothes to the concierge to be laundered. I could definitely get used to the luxury again if I wasn't careful. As it was, I was _not_ looking forward to the lumpy mattress and scratchy sheets that I was sure awaited me at Motel Crap-ola.

It didn't take me long to spot Shelly, waving and grinning madly over by a bank of pay phones. She had agreed to meet me at the airport so that I'd have some idea where I was going once I got there.

"You don't have to smirk at me like that," I told her flatly as I approached.

"Like what?" she asked innocently.

I narrowed my eyes in annoyance. "Like you're imagining what hot, make-up sex with my husband is like."

"It's not that hard to guess; I'm going to go out on a limb and say it was probably…hot." Shelly shrugged like it was completely acceptable for her to be picturing a naked, bendy Logan.

"Do you have no shame?"

"What? Like shame is a good thing?" she scoffed. "Besides, if you didn't want me to picture your man naked, you shouldn't have married Brad Pitt's competition for sexiest man alive."

"Yes, Angelina and I are getting together next week for a cup of coffee and a bitch session about the trials and tribulations of being wed to a sex idol," I snarked, rolling my eyes at her exaggeration. "I've heard that people across the globe have even combined our first names and started referring to us collectively as 'Rogan.'"

"Wow, someone's feeling sassy tonight," she remarked. "Has a life of room service and valet parking hardened you to the world?"

"Hardy, har, har, you are such a riot," I replied drolly. "Can we please go now?"

"Right, you must be exhausted, though I doubt you've gotten out of bed much this weekend." She stuck her tongue out at me. I didn't bother to respond this time, just gave her a tired look and started walking towards the taxi stand.

After a few minutes, we finally succeeded in getting a taxi, and Shelly gave the driver directions to the motel. The ride back was short and before I knew it, we were pulling into the parking lot of the ABC Motel. Yes, that was its real name. I'd bet it was as easy as 123, or at least the typical clientele was. Mom would have a field day with that—if she were talking to me, that is.

I paid the driver and grabbed my bag out of the trunk, then followed Shelly towards the building. About half way to our room—202, we passed the vending machines, and two members of our merry band of misfits.

"Rory?" a shocked voice stopped me.

"Hi, Ma—" Shelly and I had a habit of referring to people by the paper they wrote for, and I had to stop and correct myself "Phil." I waved at my colleague with my right hand and quickly slipped my left into my pocket. "Hi Rob," I added to the one who had not spoken.

"You're back," Phil remarked; thank you, Captain Obvious.

"Yeah," I smiled weakly.

"So you're, uh, you're staying on the tour then?" he asked hopefully. Shelly had always told me that Manhattan Times Phil had a thing for me, but I had never noticed. Apparently when I stopped day dreaming about Logan long enough to pay attention, it was blaringly obvious.

"I'm not going anywhere," I told him, smiling warmly in return, but not too warmly; I was a married woman now, after all.

"Good, that's, uh, that's good," he nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "We were worried when you didn't show up on the bus. It's good that you're alright though. I mean, you look alright; not that you don't usually look alright," he hurried to add. "You look good, I mean, you usually look…You look alright," he reasserted. "I mean, you're here and all, not in the hospital or anything so…unless you've really only got six months to live or something," Phil chuckled nervously. "Which would really suck because, you know, I…we'd miss you and all…" An awkward silence surrounded the group and Shelly and Rob didn't seem too keen on helping resolve it. Mostly they were just trying to hold back their laughter. "Do you, uh, want a soda?" Phil finally asked, holding out a red Coke can speckled with drops of condensation thanks to the Texas heat.

"No, thanks," I shook my head at the offer, rocking back and forth on my feet uncomfortably. "And I am alright—I mean, I haven't been handed any death sentences or anything lately, so no worries."

"Good," he smiled sheepishly at me.

"So, Rory—what kept you in Vegas, if you don't mind my asking," Rob finally stepped in.

"Oh, uh…I just had some personal business to take care of. It just kind of came up, so…" I diverted my eyes from the men in front of me. Without thinking, I took my hand out of my pocket and brushed a piece of hair off of my face. When I looked back up, four shocked eyes were staring back at me.

Phil blinked several times before asking, "Is that a…umm…"

"Wedding ring," I admitted, reluctantly holding up my hand and shrugging pathetically.

"Wow, I uh, I didn't know you were…Umm, congratulations, I guess. Wow," Phil stuttered. "Umm, what should I…should I uh, call you, now?"

I have him a pointed look. "Rory," I teased.

"Oh yeah, well, obviously, I just meant…uh…that, uh…"

"Phil, I'm kidding. I know what you meant." I interrupted his babbling. "I'm still using Gilmore for work."

"Right, that makes sense," he nodded. "So, um, who…who is he? Do you know him…Oh crap, that's not what I meant, I mean, of course you know him, because he's your...and….I just…you know…with…I'm gonna shut up know."

"That's probably a good idea," I heard Rob say quietly to his friend.

I narrowed my eyes angrily at Phil. Did he seriously just ask me that question? I mean, obviously there was _some_ impaired judgment making on my part what with the spontaneity of it all, but I wouldn't be stupid enough to marry a complete stranger. "We've been together since my sophomore year of college," I ground out angrily, leaving out the part where we hadn't seen or spoken to one another in six months due to the fact that he had wanted to get married then and I wasn't ready.

"Oh, right, of course," Phil replied sheepishly. "I didn't mean…"

He was prevented from slipping into another incoherent babble by a very loud, fake yawn. Shelly stretched her arms above her head. "Oh, man, I am beat. We should probably get back to our rooms," she said.

I turned and gave her a look that said "finally." "Yeah, it is pretty late," I added. "We'll talk to you guys tomorrow." Shelly and I waved and walked off towards our room. As soon as we were a few feet away Shelly started tittering uncontrollably under her breath.

"I'm sorry, you think this is funny?" I hissed incredulously.

"Girl, you are the only woman I know who can turn an articulate reporter into the world's biggest, blubbering idiot."

"You could have stepped in at some point, maybe helped out a bit."

"Oh, but it was _way_ too much fun to watch. The poor boy couldn't string two words together. I think he used the phrase 'I mean' at least a couple dozen times, and I don't even want to think about how many 'umms' and 'uhhs' he uttered. On the bright side, at least he's hot."

"Oh, come on," I rolled my eyes at her.

She scoffed at me. "You know the boy's a dish. I have no idea how a guy with _that_ body could have gone his whole life without learning how to talk to a girl. Maybe he was fat in high school," she shrugged. "Oh well, now that he can't have you, maybe I'll step in and help heal his broken heart," she smirked.

I shook my head as we reached our door. I was used to her antics by this point. We made our way into the room and I immediately collapsed by the bed. The last five hours had felt like the longest of my life, between leaving Logan, the phone call with my Mom, and the beyond awkward conversation with Phil. I wanted nothing more than to curl up under the covers and talk to Logan.

I sat back up and opened my suitcase to search for my pajamas. I quickly changed and crawled into bed with my phone, speed dialing my husband.

"Well, hello." I could hear the smile in his voice and I instantly relaxed a bit.

"I'm alive," I informed him, a smile gracing my own face.

"So I hear, you at the motel?"

"Yep, all tucked in tight and safe."

"Oh really?" he asked suggestively. "Alone?"

"'Fraid not," I answered, scrunching up my face in disappointment.

"Well, we can always go back to the texting," he suggested. "Not quite as good, but much more discreet."

"But for that we have to hang up," I pouted.

"Damn," he replied, lightly. "Well in that I case, I guess we should talk or something. I hear couples sometimes do that as well."

"Fine," I sighed exaggeratedly. "I suppose."

"How yah doing, Ace?" he asked seriously. We'd only been apart for five hours, but instead it felt like a week. I thought about all I could tell him about—Mom; my crappy flight sitting in front of a family with a six-year-old who wouldn't stop kicking my seat and an infant who wouldn't stop crying; the uncomfortable run-in with Manhattan Times Phil. It would feel good to get this crappy day off my chest. I let out a sigh and answered.

"I'm good."

* * *

**Review please O:) (oh, and something about the chapter and not just the fact that I'm a Dr. would be nice :P)**


	5. Taking Care of Business

**AN: It's been so long I was actually thinking of doing a little recap so you all remember where we left off but I'm way to lazy right now. Oh fine--real quick, here's what's happened so far on WHiV...**

**Rory and Logan ran into each other randomly in Vegas, rehashed all their baggage over the break-up, got drunk and wound up married. Rory freaked out and ran away planning on going back on the tour but realized that if she left she would really never have a chance with Logan ever again and even though she wasn't sure she wanted to be married, she knew she didn't want to lose him. She went back to beg forgiveness and they "made-up." Rory was going to give up the tour but Logan told her to go back because she loved it. They're tentatively OK, but there's still a lot of tension and a lot they need to work through. They spent the rest of the weekend together before getting on seperate plans and going seperate ways. After a blow out with her mother over the elopement, a bad plane ride, and a run-in with a guy who has a crush on her, Rory calls Logan to let her know that she made it back with the rest of the tour bus and tells him...absolutely nothing about her day. **

**Now on with the new chapter...**

* * *

I crossed and uncrossed my legs for what must have been the fiftieth time that hour, squirming uncomfortably in my seat

I crossed and uncrossed my legs for what must have been the fiftieth time that hour, squirming uncomfortably in my seat. My body felt as restless as my mind. I glanced at my watch and realized it was quarter past eleven—at least that's what time it was here in South Carolina. Back in Palo Alto, it was seven-fifteen. Logan was supposed to have some big important meeting with some big important investors in forty-five minutes. A sudden flash of panic overtook me. What if his alarm didn't go off? What if he over-slept like that one time he almost missed his Philosophy midterm, only barely sliding into the lecture hall in time—thanks to a well placed call by a telemarketer inquiring as to whether or not we were happy with our telephone service?

For a moment, my lips curved up into a smile at the memory. I had just moved in with Logan the week before and we were still reveling in our newfound living situation, making sure to thoroughly tire each other out each night before bed. We must have done a particularly good job of it that night. The evening had started off with me helping Logan study for his exam and of course, us being who we are, we got into a philosophical debate of our own over the material. The topic was altruism and whether or not it truly existed. I was firmly on the pro-altruism side.

"What about when a mother rushes back into a burning house to save her child?" I asked, pushing myself off my half-reclined position against the headboard, and seating myself Indian-style to face Logan—perking up as our discussion gained momentum. "She's risking her own life to save another. She certainly can't be serving herself if she dies in the act."

"But if she doesn't die, then she'll only know peace once her child is safe," Logan countered, continuing to lounge languorously against the stack of pillows underneath him, his arms crossed smugly behind his head. "She rushes back in to avoid the potential misery of losing her baby—see? Besides, one could argue that from an evolutionary point of view, saving her child is in a way saving herself, since the point of living—in the Darwinian sense—is to preserve and pass on your DNA."

"Well what about a firefighter who rushes in to save a stranger?" I hurriedly point out. "Or sometimes even a random stranger passing by. They're risking their own lives for someone they have no emotional _or_ genetic connection to."

"_All_ humans share a genetic connection. Such 'altruistic,'" he finger quoted the word, "behaviors will ultimately benefit the group of humanity as a whole and increase the chances of the species surviving and continuing to pass along their DNA. We see it in nature all the time. Take social, insect colonies for example. All the worker insects are sterile and devote their life to serving the Queen so that she may produce as many offspring as possible…preserving the species and thus, their own DNA"

_Damn it_. I needed a counter argument and I needed one quickly, but my mind just couldn't seem to formulate one. I hated it when he out-argued me. As the silent pause lingered on, I could see his lips turning up into one of his signature smirks. He realized he had me stumped. _The arrogant bastard_. But, damn, he was hot when he was being a smartass. A part of me wanted to slap that stupid grin off his face and the other part of me wanted to kiss it off. I wound up doing both, but only partly of my own accord. "Butt faced miscreant," I mumbled petulantly, pouting and swatting him on the shoulder. He grabbed my hand before I could pull it away and tugged it firmly, pulling me down on top of him and crashing his lips onto mine.

"You're cute when you're losing an argument," he whispered against my lips.

"I wasn't losing," I managed to insist half-heartedly as I repositioned myself into a more comfortable position on top of him to continue our kissing. I tangled one hand into his hair and let the other slip down under the hem of his shirt to tease the skin just above the waistband of his sweatpants. My tongue swept thickly through his mouth.

"So then this is your counter argument?" he chuckled once our lips had separated.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance and lifted myself up on my forearms to look him straight in the eye. "Lassie," I stated firmly.

"The dog?" He raised his eyebrows curiously.

"She was always saving Timmy and they're not even the same species so you can't use that Darwin crap on me."

"Lassie's a fictional character, hun," he replied in a placating manner. He continued to run his hand up and down my back, brushing the bare skin that was exposed from my tank top riding up.

"Yeah, but there are plenty of non-fictional dogs who have been reported to risk their own lives to save a person's—how do you explain _that?" _I replied triumphantly.

"Alright, alright, I concede," he relented. His hand moved down my back again and this time, he slipped underneath my pajama pants to cup my ass and give it a light squeeze. I gasped and looked back down at him; he was still sporting his trademark smirk and there was a glint of mischievousness in his eyes—the jerk was just trying to appease me.

"Oooooh no," I scolded, "you're just giving up to make me happy, so you can get laid."

"What," he asked, giving me his best, fake innocence look, "are you trying to say that I can't just do it out of the goodness of my heart—you know _altruistically?_" he stressed the last word.

"You suck," I pouted, sitting back on my knees and crossing my arms over my chest. He somehow managed to knock me off my balance and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back and he was hovering over me.

"Have I told you lately how happy I am that you're here?" he responded, suddenly all seriousness.

"You may have mentioned it once or twice," I breathed out breathily at the abrupt shift in intensity. The truth was, he had hardly stopped telling me that the entire week I'd been there. Not that it ever seemed to stop making me shiver and feel inexplicably warm inside all at once. He swooped down to press his lips hard against mine, his fingers pressing firmly into my waist as though he wanted to keep me in exactly that spot for the rest of time.

"Good," he whispered as he pulled back from the kiss, but the grip didn't let up, "because I'm _really_ happy you're here." He spent the next several hours that night showing me just how happy he was. Apparently in all that activity, we forgot to set the alarm for the next morning. I never thought I would be thankful for a telemarketer call.

Of course—since I was here and he was there—Logan had no such distractions the night before and he was probably getting into his suit at that very moment. But what if he _had_ overslept? I highly doubted I could count on another telemarketer. I figured I should probably send him a quick text message just to be sure.

_Hey, Babe. I just wanted to make sure you were up so you don't miss your meeting. I miss you—love, Rory._

I checked over the message quickly—I hated 'text-speak' and insisted on using proper grammar and checking over my spelling before sending out any messages. Once the text had passed inspection, I pressed the 'send' button.

I waited impatiently, tapping my foot on the ground and staring intently at the screen of my PDA. After a couple of minutes, I felt the phone vibrate in my hands and I quickly pressed a button to take me to my messages.

_Ace, thanks for the wakeup call. Don't worry, I'm on top of it—though I'd much rather be on top of you ;) Miss you, too—Love, Logan._

I smiled and tried to repress the inevitable blush creeping onto my face. My panic had now fully subsided and I was able to start to relax. As my surroundings started to invade my consciousness once again, I noticed that all around me, people were clapping and a few even stood from their white, wooden, fold up chairs. I glanced up at the stage to see Barack Obama standing with a hand up in the air trying to quiet the crowd. "Thank you, thank you," he addressed his audience. _Damn!_ He must have said something important and I had missed it—funny how that had been happening all week. If this kept up, I was _so_ going to get fired.

* * *

My fingers stilled over the keyboard of my Sidekick as I heard some shuffling noises from outside the door of the motel room. The sound of the lock clicking open reverberated through the room and I quickly sat up in bed, smoothing out my bunched up nightgown, and patting down my hair.

The door creaked open an inch and then stopped—the familiar sound of my roommate's voice filling the space around me. "You've got ten seconds to stop masturbating to your husband's porn texts before I enter," she announced.

I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "Try being a little _less_ tactful, why don't you?" I asked as the door swung the rest of the way open and Shelly walked in sporting an infuriating grin that just screamed 'I know what you were doing.'

"Ooh, someone's testy," she commented, "did I interrupt?"

"No!" I lied. I had called Logan a little bit earlier to find out how his meeting with the potential investors had gone. It turned out the potential investors weren't so 'potential' anymore. They had sealed the deal in record time. The conversation ended shortly thereafter when I promised Logan I'd thoroughly congratulate him—just as soon as he hung up the phone. I glanced down at my Sidekick and the half-written text on the LCD screen—_I can feel your erection pressing against the valley between my breasts as I kiss my way down your happy trail and I know you're as eager…_ I felt guilty leaving Logan hanging like that, but I could hardly be expected to finish the task at hand with Shelly present. I reluctantly hit the 'end' button and closed the device.

"Now, now, no need to get defensive just because I'm right," she responded as she flopped down on the twin bed next to mine—damn that girl and an ability to detect all things dirty within a one-hundred foot radius. She was like Mom that way. Usually I enjoyed having a little Lorelai-esqueness—making up words… another Lorelai quality—so far from home, but tonight I didn't feel like being reminded of the mother whom I hadn't spoken to in days.

I leaned back against the headboard and crossed my arms over my chest. "What are you doing back so early, anyhow?" I asked, still slightly peeved at the intrusion. It was barely midnight.

Shelly shrugged her shoulders. "Got tired of answering questions about you and your hubby—it's amazing how you can suck all the fun out of a room when you're not even there," she added teasingly.

"You didn't tell anyone anything, did you?" I asked worriedly, sitting up again.

"Of course, I got the band to let me on stage and I made an announcement to the entire bar," Shelly deadpanned as she lifted a leg into the air and started tugging at the zipper of her boot.

"I don't know why anyone even cares, anyway," I huffed, relaxing once again. I could trust Shelly's sarcasm much more than her sincerity.

"We're reporters, Ror, it's our job to care and you know that. If you didn't, you wouldn't be going out of your way to hide your new last name," she replied seriously, then, having removed the first of her boots, she switched legs and added jokingly, "Personally, if I were you, I'd be exploiting this to its fullest potential. Can you imagine the face on Ms. Philadelphia Flyer herself when she finds out that the newbie she's been picking on for the last six months is practically her boss?"

It was true that Jordana, the reporter for the Philadelphia Flyer—a paper owned and operated by Huntzberger Publishing Group—had not been the most welcoming person on the tour. She seemed to think that anyone who'd been employed in the field for less than five years shouldn't even be considered a real reporter. She had a bit of a superiority complex, although just between you and me, I've read her stuff and the complex is _definitely_ not warranted. "Just because I have the same last name as her boss doesn't mean I'm anywhere even close to being 'practically her boss.' Logan isn't involved in the family business anymore and Mitchum hates me—or at least I think he still does; I'm not entirely clear on that. Anyway, that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Marrying Logan didn't change anything for me professionally and I don't want people treating me like it did," I ranted.

"Have you talked to Logan about any of this?" she asked as she brought both of her feet back to rest on the floor and lifted her hips off the bed to wriggle out of her skin-tight jeans. I averted my eyes; Shelly never did have any modesty when it came to getting changed.

"What for, it's not like he could do anything about it." The last thing I wanted to do was give Logan a reason to think I was regretting our marriage.

"He could listen to you," she offered. "I know I'm not exactly the expert on relationships—I've kind of never found anyone worth the hassle—but I do know that you're supposed to talk to each other about stuff. I mean, isn't that the point?"

Sure, it _sounded_ logical and wise, but Shelly didn't understand. If I talked to Logan about this, I might end up not _having_ a relationship. I highly doubted 'Hey honey, I know I didn't want to get married in the first place, and now I don't want to tell anyone about you,' would go over well. The part of Logan that was still angry would take this as confirmation that I was still unsure about our new relationship. The other part of Logan—the part that was sweet, kind, loyal and loving—would feel guilty about the idea that the mere fact of who he was might make things difficult for me. He knew what it was like to feel defined by the name 'Huntzberger' and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. Breaking away from his family had been the hardest thing he'd ever had to do, but it had also been the most rewarding.

"It's not that easy," I replied, turning around to find Shelly sitting cross-legged on her bed, facing me and wearing an oversized, blue-and-white, Penn State, football jersey as pajamas. "Logan and I have so much to deal with right now and I just don't want to give him anything more to worry about."

"So you'll take on all the worry for yourself?" she asked pointedly.

"That's not what I'm doing," I insisted.

"Oh really?" she raised her eyebrows at me. "Then tell me, Rory…who won't have a job in Obama's White House?"

I was probably supposed to know this. Damn my inability to pay attention at work lately; and damn Shelly's ability to pay attention to me not paying attention. "Umm…Snap, Crackle, and Pop?" I answered lamely. Shelly stared at me pointedly. "What? I'm hungry…and I never said I didn't worry _at all_."

"You missed half the speech because you were concerned about whether or not your husband got himself out of bed this morning. Guess what, Rory…he's been getting himself out of bed just fine for the last twenty-some-odd years."

"How do _you_ know what I was thinking about?" I asked defensively, rather than admit defeat…so maybe I did think about him a little too much lately. I was a newly-wed—sue me.

"I'm a very talented multitask-er…I can read over your shoulder _and_ listen to Obama at the same time. And let's not forget you obsessing afterwards about how you should have told him to wear the green tie, because it complements his eyes and makes him look sincere. Or how yesterday you called him twenty times to ask him if he packed one thing or another for the wedding this weekend. O_r_ the way you called his secretary to tell her to make sure he's not working straight through the day without a break, because he sometimes forgets to stop and eat lunch when he's really engrossed in a project."

"Maybe you should mind our own business," I snapped.

Shelly didn't seem fazed by this. It was very rare that she took anything personally, which was good since it wasn't personal at all. This new arrangement of being married and apart from Logan was even more frustrating than the past six months of being without him at all. I just didn't know how everything was supposed to work, and if there was one thing I hated, it was not knowing.

"Maybe you should be glad I don't," she responded evenly, picking something up off the bedside table and tossing it at me. My hands flew up into the air and I fumbled with the small green object as it reached me. Since my eye-hand coordination is about as good as my American Idol reject-able singing abilities, the object dropped to the bed.

I glanced curiously at the LG Chocolate sitting between my legs. "Your phone?"

She settled herself under the covers and reached up towards the bedside lamp. "Menu, MyFlix," was all she said as she flipped out the light.

With a sigh, I did as she directed, not surprised to see that the first 'flix' saved was a video of the speech from that morning. At least now I'd be able to write my article using some real facts that actually pertained to Barack Obama and his latest campaign speech. It was a good thing since the piece was due in about five hours.

I reached for my laptop, which was sitting just to the side of my bed, and opened it up, waiting patiently as Windows loaded. Just as Microsoft Word flashed the half-assed, first version of my article on the screen, I heard Shelly shift under her covers.

"Ror?" I stopped and turned towards her in the semi-illumination of my computer screen, but didn't say anything. "I'm glad you and Logan are working things out. I mean, you were never really happy before and now I know why. It's just…" A pregnant pause filled the air as Shelly did something unusual for her—she struggled to find the right words. I hear her inhale sharply before continuing on. "It's just that I never really took you for the kind of woman who spent all her time trying to take care of her husband and forgetting about herself."

The funny thing is…that was exactly the kind of woman I had never wanted to be.


	6. Regrets

I rolled my suitcase down the hall, practically dragging the garment bag containing my dress in the other hand. It was five-thirty in the morning and I hadn't slept at all on the plane. My sleepy eyes scanned the numbers on the doors—1634, 1636, 1638—until I'd finally reached the right room, 1640. I set my suitcase down and resisted the urge to bring my newly unencumbered hand to knock on the door. This wasn't Logan's room—it was _our _room. Besides, knocking would just wake him. It was ridiculous of me to feel like I was intruding by entering without invitation. The key he'd left for me at the desk—not to mention the wedding band—was really invitation enough.

With a sigh, I pulled out the slim plastic card I'd tucked securely into my pocket and slid it into the slot on the door. I heard a 'click' as the light on the door turned green and I twisted the handle to open it. I sneaked into the room as quietly as I could to avoid waking Logan. He had to be up in two hours to get a start on his best man duties and I didn't want him to be tired because of me.

I tiptoed through the room, letting the dim lights of the electronics scattered here and there guide me. My clothes felt sticky with the grime of the airport and plane, so as soon as I had set my suitcase on the luggage rack, I stripped down completely. I momentarily considered hopping into the shower, but didn't want to disturb Logan with the noise. So, instead, I just unzipped my suitcase and pulled out some sleepwear. I pulled on my yoga pants and long-sleeved t-shirt and made my way over to the bed—excited not just about the prospect of sleep, but of sleeping next to Logan. Spending the previous weekend with him had only made me miss him that much more once he was gone again. It was good to feel his comforting presence beside me once more.

I gently lifted the covers and slipped in—trying to jostle the mattress as little as possible as I settled into a sleeping position on my back. As soon as I shut my eyes, ready to embrace slumber, I felt the bed beside me shift. Logan turned onto his side and let his arm fall over my waist. My lips turned up slightly at the thought that even in sleep, Logan could sense my presence and want to be close to me. Then I felt his lips press softly against the skin of my jaw bone just below my ear. "Hi," he whispered softly in a voice that somehow made me swoon _and_ almost jump out of my skin in shock.

"You're awake," I breathed out quietly once I felt my heart rate slow.

"Mmhmm," he admitted.

"I'm sorry," I apologized, turning on my side to face him, "I tried to be quiet."

"You were very stealthy," he assured me with a sleepy grin.

"But I woke you," I replied, worried.

"I was awake," he admitted. He wove his fingers into mine and dropped our entwined hands to our side.

My brows furrowed in confusion. "You were awake?"

"You didn't actually expect me to sleep when I knew you were coming, did you?"

"You didn't say anything when I came in."

He smirked at me, letting my hand go and trailing his finger tips up my side over my hip. "If you knew I was up, you would have gotten changed one article of clothing at a time with your back to me, or maybe even in the bathroom." He reached my waist and pressed his palm to my skin—pushing his hand toward my back and slipping it teasingly under the elastic band of my pants to the spot where the small of my back ended and my butt began. "Then how would I know that you're going commando tonight?"

I gasped overdramatically. "You were _peeping_ on me?" I accused. "You're a Peeping Tom!"

"Hey," he shrugged, "what can I say? It's my God given right as your husband to peep."

"Oh _really?_" I raised my eyebrows and looked at him accusingly. "So _that's_ what this whole marriage thing means to you—the right to see me naked whenever you want?"

His smile dimmed a little. "Not _whenever_ I want."

I tried to ignore the sudden feeling of guilt that was building up in my gut. I tried to drown out the voice that was telling me that I was a bad wife. I was doing the best I could given the circumstances—that should be enough for now. "I'm sorry." I bit my lip remorsefully.

"Don't be," he quickly assured me, removing his digits from beneath my pants and grabbing for my hand once again. He gave it a comforting squeeze. "This is only temporary. I know I said I didn't want to do long distance again…" I pressed my eyes shut, forcing back the sudden flood of images from that day—the day he told me he didn't want to 'move backwards,' that it was 'all or nothing,' the day he walked out of my life. "But that was different. That was us both starting lives on opposite sides of the country, not knowing when of if we'd ever get to be together again. You never have to be sorry for following your dreams; I just want to know that I'm a part of them." He tilted his head up to brush his lips against mine.

I felt the tears brimming at my eyes. It was good enough for him. Why couldn't it be good enough for me? Why did I always have to be perfect at everything? Logan had _never_ expected me to be perfect. He had always accepted me for who I was. But then again, just because he accepted me as I was, didn't mean he didn't deserve better. He deserved things I could never give him. As much as I hated his family, they were right about one thing—I _didn't_ have what to takes to be a part of it. I couldn't be the wife a Huntzberger man really needed. I was selfish. I couldn't stand in the background and just be the great woman behind a great man. I couldn't put aside my own dreams and desires to support him and his aspirations. I could never settle for being just Mrs. Huntzberger, because I would always feel the need to prove myself as Rory Gilmore.

So I was destined for failure. And if there was one thing I never wanted to be, it was a failure. But I didn't have a choice—it was inevitable either way—either I failed myself or I failed him.

"You are," I promised. I dreamt of him every night.

"I just want you to be happy."

If only I knew how.

* * *

The streets were lined with cars—both parked and moving. I leaned down to look in the rearview mirror of one of the vehicles, pinching my cheeks to try to add a hint of color. The direct sunlight only seemed to intensify the wan tint of my face after getting only three and a half hours of sleep. I smoothed back a hair that had fallen stray from the simple but elegant French twist I had styled it in and stood up—making my way towards the church.

"Rory?" I stopped dead in my tracks at the familiar voice that interrupted me. What were they doing there? But, of course, the answer to that was obvious. Grandpa was good friends with Andrew McCrae. It was no surprise that they would be invited to his son's wedding—or it shouldn't have been, anyway.

"Grandma, Grandpa," I exclaimed with as much enthusiasm as I could muster as I turned around to greet them. I shifted my purse to my left hand and tried to wrap the strap around my fingers as inconspicuously as possible to hide my newest piece of jewelry. "I didn't know you were going to be here. What a nice surprise."

"A very pleasant surprise indeed," my grandfather agreed, beaming at me and pulling me in for a hug. "I'd almost forgotten you were friends with Colin McCrae. Fine young boy, he is."

"Yes, well, we fell out of touch for a while, but…" I trailed off, not quite sure how to explain my presence at the wedding.

"Aren't you supposed to be in South Carolina? I was under the impression that Senator Obama was making an appearance there," Grandma chimed in, also greeting me with a hug.

"I flew in last night. I'm going to fly back to Atlanta for the fundraiser on Monday."

"Well, I'm glad they could spare you for a few days. It's been too long since we've seen our favorite granddaughter," Grandpa admitted.

"Yes, although it would have been nice if you had dressed a little more appropriately," Grandma chastised. I looked down at my attire. Most of the dress was hidden by my pea coat, but the bottom half seemed fine to me. "Honestly Rory, black at a wedding?"

I internally rolled my eyes, but kept as calm a demeanor on the outside as possible, considering the bombshell I had to drop on them sometime soon. I doubted the color of my dress was what would make people talk about me today. "I'm sorry, Grandma," I apologized, "my wardrobe is a little limited these days with all the traveling I have to do."

"Yes, well, there's nothing that can be done about it now," she dismissed. "Why are you holding your bag that way?" she moved on to the next criticism. "Is the strap broken? I don't know how many times I've told you and your mother not to purchase those shoddy, discount items. They always fall apart. If you would just spend the money on a good purse to begin with, you wouldn't be replacing it all the time."

"Lay off the girl, Emily," Grandpa came to my defense. "I think she looks lovely and I'm sure the bag can be mended."

"Thank you, Grandpa. And there's nothing wrong with my purse, really."

"Let me see," my grandmother continued with a sigh, "maybe there's something that can be done." She reached for the purse.

"No really, it's not…broken," I trailed off as the bag was pulled from my grasp, leaving my left hand hovering in mid-air with two pairs of eyes glued to it.

"Is that…?" Grandma began, her voice pitchy with incredulity.

"Uh, yeah, about that." I snapped my hand back and fingered the ring nervously.

"Rory Gilmore," Grandpa chided.

"Or whatever her last name is," Grandma inserted haughtily.

Grandpa sent a stern look at her comment before turning back to me. "How dare you get married and not inform us."

"Honestly, this is all her mother's fault."

"Mom?" I questioned. I had no idea how this could possibly be her fault; she was more against my marriage then anybody, but Emily Gilmore always managed to find a way to blame my mother.

"You know, just because she runs off and elopes without telling anyone doesn't mean you should. But that's Lorelai, never thinking about the consequences of her actions. I thought _you_ of all people would have more sense than that. Don't worry though; I'm sure your marriage will be just as successful."

_Ouch!_ Grandma always seemed to know exactly what to say to make sure she hurt you just as much as you hurt her. I took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. "Look, I know you're hurt that I didn't tell you about this, but it just happened so quickly. This was honestly the first opportunity I've had."

"Did you even think this through at all?" Grandpa asked. I could tell he was disappointed in me. "How well do you even know this boy, Rory? Marriage is not something that 'just happens.' It is not something to be taken lightly. You turned down a good man that you were with for years, and then you pull something like this?"

"Oh God, Logan," Grandma suddenly exclaimed. "He's going to be devastated if he sees this. Quick, take off the ring." She motioned for me to give her my wedding band.

"_What_? No! No, you don't understand…"

"What's not to understand? That poor boy—the humiliation of being turned down in public like that and now this? Finding out you went and married someone else at his best friend's wedding?" Grandma rambled on.

I was seriously never going to get a word in edgewise if I let this continue. It was time to put a stop to it. "I didn't marry someone else!" I angrily interrupted her ramble.

That seemed to silence them. "What?" Grandma asked after a minute of silence.

"I married Logan," I finally told them.

"Logan," Grandpa repeated.

"Really?" Grandma asked. I could see the elation in her eyes but she tried to keep a somewhat reproachful demeanor.

"What about work?" Grandpa quickly asked.

"I'm going to stay on with my current position until the election and then I'm going to find a job in San Francisco," I assured him.

This seemed to satisfy his one remaining qualm. He beamed excitedly. "Well this is wonderful news." He pulled me in for a bone crushing hug.

I fought to avoid rolling my eyes at the new tune my grandparents were singing—although Grandma was still trying to keep up angry pretenses. Not that it was all pretense, I knew she was honestly upset that there wouldn't be a big, white wedding like the one we were about to attend "I still say it was completely inconsiderate of you to just get married without telling anybody. A marriage should be in a church with family and friends and a proper reception."

"Now, now, Emily, you know how difficult it would be to plan a big wedding with Rory's and Logan's current situation. They would have had to have waited until Rory stopped traveling. You remember what it's like to be young and in love and impatient, don't you?"

Grandma huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, but finally conceded. "I suppose," she agreed half-heartedly.

"See? Now if it's a wedding you want, then perhaps we should go inside. I do believe the ceremony will be starting soon."

I followed Grandma and Grandpa in and sat next to them in a pew about halfway to the front of the church.

"It's so beautiful," Grandma exclaimed in awe, "look at all the flowers! There must be hundreds of roses." It was true. White and red roses were all over the church. They lined the pews and adorned the window sills. Petals were strewn down the aisle and at the end, there was a large, rose-decorated arch for Stephanie and Colin to stand under. All of this only added to the intrinsic beauty of the church, especially the stained glass windows.

Grandma continued to chatter on about how perfect everything was. I tried to tune her out; I knew what she was doing. She was trying to make me feel bad about my own lack of a wedding. She was succeeding, not that that was very hard to do. I couldn't really miss how amazing everything looked, and the ceremony hadn't even started yet. After a few minutes, Colin, Logan, Finn, and Robert appeared at the front of the church. I stared Logan's way as his eyes roamed the church for me. When he finally saw me, I smiled warmly at him…then made a funny face. He cracked a smile and even from far away, I could see the twinkle in his eyes.

"Can you please behave yourself for five minutes?" Grandma didn't have a chance to chastise me anymore as the wedding march began to play. Bridesmaids began walking down the aisle in crimson, silk, and taffeta gowns. I probably would have gone with something a little less formal for my bridesmaids, but there was no denying that the dresses were stunning. Finally, Stephanie stepped out onto the aisle. She was dressed in a silk, organza, A-line gown. It was strapless, had a sweat heart neckline, and the train must have been at least ten feet of Italian lace. I had never seen anything so beautiful in all of my life. I glanced back to the front of the aisle to see Colin's reaction. He stared at his bride with such awe and reverence it literally took my breath away. I felt the tears immediately pooling into my eyes and I tried to keep my composure.

I felt my thoughts wandering and for a moment I imagined that Logan and Colin switched places. I was the one walking down the aisle draped in silk and lace, and Logan was looking at me the way that Colin was looking at Steph. I shook the thoughts from my head as I felt the tears streaming down my cheeks. I would never have that moment. My moment had passed and instead of silk and lace, I had been decked out in denim and stretchy cotton. And try as he might, Logan had probably been too drunk to concentrate on an atomic bomb falling on his head—not that it mattered since I couldn't even remember it.

The rest of the wedding seemed to pass in a daze as Colin and Stephanie vowed to love each other till death do they part. In my head, I whispered the words to Logan as I fingered my wedding band.

The wedding party finally began marching out of the church and I took that time to try and compose myself. It was a beautiful ceremony, but it was over. Weddings were ephemeral affairs—marriages were forever. So what if I never got the big party, I got the man—right?

Once the procession had made its way out of the church, the rest of the crowd began to gather their things and exit. I grabbed my bag and my coat and followed suit alongside Grandma and Grandpa. Once we were out in the open air, it was Grandpa that located Logan first. Before I even realized what was happening, Grandpa had my husband's hand in a firm grip. "Congratulations, son--welcome to the family," he beamed at his new grandson-in-law.

"Thank you, Richard." Logan smiled politely, "although I must say, this conversation feels strangely déjà vu."

Grandpa chuckled. "Touché, who would have thought all those years ago that we'd be having this conversation for real?" he pondered, referring to a practical joke he and I had played on Logan before we were even a couple. Grandpa had convinced Logan that an arranged marriage had been orchestrated for us.

Logan quickly finished up some polite greetings with my grandparents before excusing himself to address me. "Hey there, beautiful," he smiled, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in tight. "Your grandparents seem to be taking things pretty well."

"Yeah, well, they were pretty pissed—until they found out it was you."

Logan chuckled. "Yeah, they always did love me."

"Except when they found out we were having sex," I reminded him.

"Oh yeah, they didn't like that very much did they? But you see, now it's okay, because not only am I allowed to have sex with you, I'm _expected_ to. Just wait—they'll be asking about babies in no time."

"Don't remind me." I rolled my eyes. He was right, of course. They would be looking for great-grandchildren, now, and subtlety was not one of the great Gilmore traits.

"So, how yah holding up?" he asked me.

"I'm fine," I told him.

"Uh huh," he rolled his eyes and brought his thumb up to wipe at my cheek, "tell that to your non-waterproof mascara."

"It was a wedding," I reminded him, "and I'm a girl—crying is inevitable."

He looked at me in surprise. "So you don't feel even the slightest bit upset about the fact that we didn't get to do this?" he asked.

"Do what, share our wedding day with a bunch of your father's and my grandfather's sycophantic business associates?"

"What about family, and the church, and the dress?" he asked.

"It would have been nice, sure," I admitted, "but it's not what's important."

"Well I _know_ you're going to be jealous when you see the wedding cake. I know how you feel about cake," he teased.

I laughed. "Yes, well it _is_ a shame to miss out on that."

"I have a confession to make," he leaned in to whisper in my ear.

"Oh really?"

"When Steph was walking down the aisle, I was imagining it was you." Despite the cold, November air, I felt suddenly warm at his confession. I leaned up to give him a kiss. "So you're really okay?"

Really, I wasn't sure. It was hard to be here, seeing all the things I had missed out on, but I knew it was my own fault. If I had just said 'yes' the first time around, we would have had it all—sometime down the line when I was more prepared to be a wife. But I hadn't, and there was no point in making him feel bad about my own regrets. "Yeah."

"So you don't regret missing out on any of it?"

"No regrets," I insisted, despite the thoughts that had just been going through my head.

"Not even the honeymoon?"

I laughed at that. "Aww, don't worry, baby. I'm sure we can find a week sometime to go somewhere with a beach we'll never set foot on because we're too busy having sex."

"How about this week?" he asked, pulling something out of his coat pocket and handing it to me.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "What's this?"

"Two round-trip tickets to Hawaii—I got us reservations at the Four Seasons in Maui."

"_This _week?" I clarified, stepping back out of his embrace and glaring at him.

"Yep." He smiled at me like the idiot I was certain he was at that moment.

"I kind of have this little thing called work, Logan," I snapped at him. He couldn't possibly be _that_ stupid. No, he was up to no good.

"Well then, it's a good thing your husband is friends with the boss and scored you some time off." He smiled proudly and I felt the anger bubbling inside of me come to a head.

"You called _Hugo?_" I hissed.

"What?" Okay, maybe he _was_ that stupid. Could he honestly not see what was wrong with this?

"You called my boss, Logan. What were you thinking? You can't just do things like that. Just because _you're_ used to getting special treatment from the boss doesn't mean—"

"Woah, hold it right there." He held his hand up to stop me. "Don't you dare, I've worked my ass off these past few months. You have no idea how hard it's been for me."

"_You're_ the one who told me to go back to work."

"Because I _want_ you to go back to work."

"Sure, why not have me go back when you can call my boss up whenever you want and have me at your beck and call."

"_What_? Rory, do have any idea how insane you sound? I was trying to do something nice for us—for _you."_

"By making me look incompetent and unprofessional? Good job, Logan, very _nice."_ I practically snarled the word 'nice.'

"This is crazy, Rory. How does this make you look unprofessional _or_ incompetent? You didn't even know. I _told_ Hugo it was a surprise. He was happy for us—he wanted to do something nice."

"God, you just don't get it, do you Logan?"

"You know what? You're right. I don't get it. You're being completely irrational here."

"Fine," I snapped back. Okay, so maybe I was a _wee_ bit irrational. It's not like 'fine' was a stunningly well thought out argument, but I was pissed.

"Fine." Apparently now he was pissed too.

I shook my head in disgust and stormed off. So far, married life was a breeze.


	7. Family First

**AN: I'm tired of thinking up excuses for my crappy updating record, so I've decided not to even try anymore. Enjoy the chapter, they're are only a couple more.**

* * *

We managed to get through the reception with minimal hostility, despite the fact that we were both still angry with one another. Logan stayed busy with his best man duties and I had plenty of college friends to catch up with, keeping me sufficiently distracted from the fight.

Of course, we still had to sit next to each other at dinner and share a few dances for appearance sake. Our marriage was already upstaging the one everyone was there to celebrate—we didn't need to draw even more attention by fighting in front of everyone. To be honest, it wasn't that hard to pretend everything was okay, just as long as we didn't say too much. It was actually pretty easy to get lost in the feeling of his hands on my hips and his chest under my cheek as we danced to Billy Joel's 'Just the Way You Are.' Even when I was mad at him, his touch made everything feel better—it had always been that way for us.

But I couldn't forget that I _was_ still mad at him. He had gone behind my back to my boss and asked for special treatment for me. I felt completely humiliated. I couldn't just shirk my responsibilities like that. It wasn't who I was—he should have known that. I had already offered to give up the campaign trail, which was huge for me. _He_ had wanted me to keep going. If I was going to keep working for Hugo, I was going to do it right. That meant not spontaneously taking weeks off. Besides, Thanksgiving was coming up, so it wasn't like I wasn't going to see Logan again for months. He had completely crossed the line.

"Hello?" the voice on the other end of the phone answered. I was tucked away in the powder room on the far side of the reception hall where hopefully no one would overhear me. There was a settee in one corner of the room, but I opted not to sit down—this was more of a pacing conversation.

"Hi, Hugo?" I practically whispered into the receiver while bending down to check for feet in the stalls. They were thankfully empty.

"Rory?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"Oh, right…umm…could you hold on for a minute?"

"Sure…I guess." But he was already gone before I could get my answer out. Dead air filled my ear for a minute or so as he apparently finished up a conversation with someone on another line. I tapped my foot impatiently, chancing covert glances towards the door to make sure no one was coming in. I walked over to the counter and rifled through the basket full of toiletries that were set out…everything from spray-on deodorant to moist towelettes with makeup remover on them for touchups. It was the type of fancy bathroom that you would expect to see an attendant in, but luckily I was on the far side of the hall and the ballroom over here was empty until later in the evening, so there was no one working there, yet.

"Rory," Hugo was back on the line, "sorry about that, just some business I had to finish up before I could talk." His voice sounded stiff—we usually had a pretty friendly working relationship.

"It's okay," I informed him. I hoped he wasn't mad about the sudden vacation. If my idiot of a husband got me in trouble with my boss…

"So, I hear congratulations are in order, Mrs. Huntzberger." Some of the unease seemed to slip out of his voice at this.

"Listen, I just wanted to apologize…"

"For what?" he interrupted, seeming honestly perplexed.

"It wasn't right of Logan to come to you and ask you to give me time off like this. I'm your employee, and it was completely unprofessional. If you need me in Atlanta on Monday…"

"Rory…you don't have to apologize. When Logan told me you two had gotten married, I _wanted_ to do something for you…it's just…" The tension was back in his voice again. I knew he'd be mad. I didn't have the kind of job where I could just take off at a moment's notice.

"What?"

"Well, I was actually going to call…the person who was supposed to cover for you had a…uh…a family emergency…. So I can't feasibly let you take time off… right now…"

"Oh." I wasn't sure why I sounded so disappointed—why I _felt_ so disappointed. This is what I had called for—to apologize to Hugo and come back to work. I didn't want to go to Hawaii with Logan. Well okay, of _course_ I wanted to go to Hawaii with Logan, only I was mad at him for going behind my back and making me look bad to my boss. Plus, the timing was bad. It was so sudden so there was no time to plan or get anything in order, and disappearing from the campaign trail again so soon after Vegas would only set more rumors in motion.

Why did he have to do this now? Couldn't he have waited so that we could do it right? But then again, that wasn't Logan. He wasn't a planner. He was spontaneous, unpredictable, and he listened to his heart. For Logan, there was never any time better than the present. And perhaps he was right. We'd been apart for so long and then…bam! We were married and we'd barely spent any time together since. We needed to reconnect. Why did doing what was right for my marriage have to be so wrong for my job? This was exactly what I never wanted.

How was I supposed to balance these two different lives with two different sets of expectations? How could I be everywhere at once and please everyone at the same time? It wasn't possible. I could feel the tears pooling behind my eyes but I pushed them back and grabbed one of the towelettes from the counter to dab away the makeup that was beginning to smear.

"I'm really sorry. You guys are good friends and you two deserve a great honeymoon. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He really did sound sorry—almost guilty, even, which was completely unnecessary. He'd just described us as friends, and I liked to think that in a way we were, but first and foremost he was still my boss.

"Right, of course, but you don't owe us anything, really. I understand."

"I really am sorry."

"So you've said…"

"I'll figure something out and let you know."

"Thanks, Hugo."

"Give Logan my apologies, will you?"

"Oh…" _Oh crap! _I was going to have to break the news to him. As if he wasn't pissed enough already…He was definitely going to think that I had something to do with this—which I guess, you know, in a way—but even if I hadn't called and offered, Hugo would still have needed me back. _Damn it!_ If only I hadn't called Hugo, he probably would have called Logan himself. Now I was stuck having to deliver the bad news. I was not looking forward to it, but what other choice did I have? "Um, sure."

"Thanks, talk to you soon…Huntzberger."

* * *

"You what?" We stopped dead in our tracks on the dance floor and he took a tentative step away from me. His face was unreadable, which of course meant he was about to blow. I had just broken the news to him. A few moments before I had been certain that I had chosen the best way—on the dance floor, with my head buried against his shoulder. He wouldn't want to make a scene in the middle of his best friend's wedding and touching was always better than not touching. It was calming. Like I'd already said, it had always been that way for us. Hopefully, I hadn't underestimated what his reaction would be.

"I need to go back to work tomorrow," I repeated.

He looked like he was about to shoot back an angry reply, but instead he took a deep breath and another step away from me. "I can't talk about this right now."

"Logan…"

Despite what he had just said, he started to talk about it. "You're unbelievable Rory, you know that? I'm your husband for god's sake…" He realized that his voice was starting to rise and he stopped to take another calming breath. "We can't do this here."

He took a look around the crowd before grabbing my arm and leading me away from the party. His grip on my wrist was uncomfortably tight, but he didn't pull—he didn't have to—I followed him unquestioningly. I didn't want him out of my site. Not now—not when he was angry with me. Our relationship was precarious enough already and I couldn't shake the fear that the moment he disappeared from my view it would all be over—that if I didn't work this out with him now, I'd be working it out with his lawyers tomorrow. That was the last thing I wanted. What had I been thinking calling Hugo? Everything about the trip had been worked out. Sure I hated the way it had all been done—behind my back—but I would have had a week on the beach to get over it. Now I'd only pissed Logan off more—made him think he wasn't important. I'd promised him one-hundred percent and I wasn't giving it. I didn't even deserve him.

He stopped in front of an unmarked door, looking both ways down the hallway before attempting the door knob. It turned easily and the door swung open. Logan peeked inside before leading me in to what turned out to be an empty dressing room. He slammed the door shut behind us and swirled around to face me with anger in his eyes.

"I'm your husband, Rory," he continued as though there had been no interruption of our conversation out on the dance floor, "but I feel more like some fling you're having behind your real husband's back and I just can't compete. I'm trying here, Rory. I'm trying to be supportive because I want you to be happy and I want you to be successful, but I also want you to be my god damn wife and if you can't do that…" He trailed off, not able to finish his threat though that didn't make it any less real. I could hear the unsaid words ringing in my ears, '…_if you can't do that, then I can't be in this marriage._'

I hung my head, staring at the raspberry-colored nail polish that peaked out from my black, strap-y heels. I couldn't look him in the eye; I couldn't assure him that I could give him what he needed. I wanted to, more than anything I wanted to tell him that I could be his wife but I couldn't. It was graduation day all over again and despite the ring on my finger, nothing had changed. I wanted to marry him. I wanted to be his wife. It was never a question of that. Unfortunately, no amount of desire could make me into the wife he deserved. I was failing, just like I always knew I would and I had no idea how to fix it.

I told him the only truth I knew to be certain beyond any doubt. "I love you, Logan. I love you so much and I want this to work more than anything. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I should have just accepted that you wanted to do something nice for us. I was just so angry with you for going to Hugo behind my back. I shouldn't have called him, though. It's just…

"…Just that you don't want our marriage to inconvenience your job," he angrily and incorrectly surmised.

"No," I insisted, "that's not it! It's just hard…trying to balance it all. I'm trying to figure it out."

"So figure it out in Maui. Figure it out with _me_, Rory. That's what married people do—they figure it out together.

"My replacement fell through," I admitted sheepishly. "I _have_ to go back. It's only for a few more days though, then I'll have the time off for Thanksgiving…can't we go then?"

"We're supposed to go to your mother's for Thanksgiving," he reminded me—not that I had forgotten, I just tried not to think about it. I hadn't spoken to her in almost a week—not since that disastrous phone call. I wasn't even sure if she was really expecting me at all, let alone _us_. Logan didn't know that, though, and I didn't want to worry him. He didn't need to know how against us my mother was. He didn't need to worry that she would try to influence me away from him. She couldn't. I wouldn't let her.

"She'll understand," I lied.

"Will she?" he asked pointedly, raising his eyebrows to let me know he highly doubted Lorelai Gilmore would be so understanding.

"Of course, we just got married. She wants us to be happy."

I could tell Logan didn't buy it, but he didn't argue anymore. "I'll rebook the flights when I get back to California," he complied, unappeased. "I want this to work, Rory. You know how much, but if we can't figure this out…I need you to be as devoted to this marriage as I am. It can't be a one way street. I would never ask you to choose between your career and me, but I have to come first _some_ of the time."

"You do," I promised.

"It doesn't feel like it," he admitted with those sad puppy dog eyes of his.

"Logan." I took a step closer to him and placed my right hand on his cheek, my thumb caressing his jaw bone where a five o'clock shadow was already starting to form. His hair was so fair that his stubble could be felt well before it was seen. I loved that feeling—the scruff that no one knew about but me brushing against my finger tips, my cheek, my lips…I leaned in to kiss him gently on the lips. "I love you," I whispered as I pulled back. "And in a week, we'll be together, drinking pina coladas and lounging on a white sand beach."

A small smile started to creep its way onto his face. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was a start. "Will I get lei-ed?" he joked lightly.

"I do believe it's a time honored Hawaiian tradition." I grinned back at him.

"Rory?"

"Yeah?"

"Promise me something…"

"Anything."

"Promise we can make this work."

I couldn't seem to make anything work lately—not my job, not my family, and not us. I was juggling too many balls and they all kept dropping on me and the more I concentrated on catching one, the more the others slipped right through my fingers. If I wasn't careful, they were all going to break. But I would figure something out. I would grow another arm if I had to. I would make it work.

"I promise."

* * *

"It was awful," I admitted as I walked along the courtyard with Shelly. Or at least that's what the crappy motel we were staying at advertised it as—there wasn't really any grass, just some weeds poking out through the concrete and a few flower beds full of withered and dying petunias set next to a couple of splintering wooden benches. "He was so mad. I calmed him down a bit, but he was still not a happy camper." It was Sunday night and I had gotten to Atlanta just a few hours ago. Shelly and some of the others were on their way to dinner so I dropped my stuff off in the room and joined them. We had just gotten back and I had taken my nosy but lovable roommate aside to tell her about my weekend. I needed someone to talk about it with, after all, and I couldn't exactly call Mom.

"What'd he say?"

"He said he didn't want to make me choose between him and work, but he felt like he was always coming in second…"

"That's crazy," she interrupted, "he's all you friggin' think about. If you pay any _less_ attention to work, you're going to be out of a job soon."

"And if I pay any less attention to him, I'm going to be out of a husband soon," I surmised. I sighed in defeat and plopped down on one of the benches. There just wasn't enough of me to go around. I couldn't do it all. "I don't know, maybe it wouldn't be so bad…"

Shelly took a seat next to me. "But you love him, you can work it out." She gave the patented 'you can do it' pep talk, and it would have been appropriate if she hadn't completely misunderstood me.

"No," I admitted guiltily, looking down at my shoes. "I mean the job part."

"Oh." Her voice was strained and she pursed her lips together to stop herself from saying anything more. "You really think…" she finally continued.

"I don't know," I cried in desperation, standing up from the bench we had been sitting on for less than a minute and beginning to pace back and forth in front of my friend. "I just…what if I leave and it _still_ doesn't work out? What if we're just too far gone? What if I resent him for it and I just make everything worse?"

"I don't know," she responded honestly.

I stopped my pacing and looked straight at her. "But what if I stay and my marriage falls apart and a year from now the job is over and I'm left with nothing? What if I hate myself for losing him again and I can't write anymore?"

"That's a lot of 'what ifs'…"

"I don't know what…"

"What?" Shelly asked as I paused mid-sentence.

"What do you think he's doing here?" a voice I recognized as belonging to Milwaukee Chronicle Chrissie asked. Our private place to talk suddenly wasn't so private anymore and I didn't want anyone else to overhear the conversation we were having.

"Let's go," I told Shelly. We'd have to go back to the stuffy room to finish hashing out the disaster my life had become.

"I don't know, it's got to be work related though, right?" said Johanna from the Jamestown Journal.

Shelly looked in the direction of the voices and I noticed a quick pout cross her face before she wiped it away and nodded in agreement. I knew she wished she could stay and listen to the gossip, but she was a good enough friend to pretend she didn't care.

"Why would he come himself?" Their voices were getting louder since we had to walk by them to get back to our room.

"I don't know," I noticed Johanna shrug, "maybe he likes Atlanta."

"You know, for a smart reporter, you're an idiot." Chrissie commented.

"He's kind of sexy. Don't you think he's kind of sexy?" I rolled my eyes. It was like being back in high school listening to a conversation between Madeline and Louise.

"Sure, if by 'sexy' you mean 'rich.' Besides, he's married."

"How do you know?"

"Everyone knows." Shelly and I tried to pass by the gossiping girls as inconspicuously as possible. "Hey, Gilmore." _Caught_! "Huntzberger's married, right?"

My breath caught in my throat and I stopped dead in my tracks. Huntzberger—he was here? He couldn't be, he was supposed to be back in San Francisco…and how did she know he was married?

"Huntzberger?" Shelly asked, clearly as dumbfounded as I was.

"Yeah, he's here," Chrissie confirmed, "god only knows why he would come to this god forsaken place. It's got to be something big, though. I'm sure of it."

"Where is he?" I managed to croak out.

"He's in the lobby."

"He's just sitting there reading the newspaper and sipping coffee like it's _normal_." Johanna added.

"He won't talk to anybody, though. It's really strange."

"He's here." My voice came out as a whisper.

"Maybe it's a sign," Shelly said almost sadly. "You should go find out what he wants."

"He won't tell _any_one what he wants. He won't say a word. He's not going to tell _you_," Chrissie insisted.

"I think he'll tell her," Shelly snapped back.

"Right, because you're so special?"

"Go," Shelly told me, rolling her eyes, but otherwise ignoring Chrissie.

"What if it's bad?" I croaked out, suddenly overcome by fear. Why would he come if it wasn't bad? "What if he changed his mind about working it out? What if he decides it's now or never, just like back at graduation?"

"Will you stop with the 'what-ifs' already? Stop thinking and just go do something."

"Just 'doing' is what got me into this mess," I reminded her.

"You were drunk, that doesn't count. Besides, you have to see him eventually."

"What are you two talking about?" Chrissie's eyes lit up in glee as realization started to hit her. "You're the reason he's here," she said excitedly. "What is it? It's work, right? You're not, like, having and affair or something with him are you?"

Shelly was right, I had to see him eventually. And going now had the added bonus of getting away from Chrissie and Johanna. I nodded my head, trying to convince myself I could do this. Besides, it's not like we'd left on bad terms exactly. Things were strained but there was a truce of sorts. I just couldn't figure out why he'd come here. "I should go," I whispered.

Shelly put her hand on my shoulder and squeezed comfortingly. "I'm right behind you." I closed my eyes and swallowed, trying to find the courage buried deep within and started to head back to the front of the motel where my husband was waiting for me.

"Wait, what's going on?"

"Where are you going?"

I ignored the curious voices behind me and continued walking. I made my way around the corner and within barely a minute I was standing outside the lobby. I pushed the door open and walked in but stopped as soon as I saw the man sitting in front of me.

He put his paper down and looked right at me. "Hello, Rory. It's nice to see you again."

"Mitchum," I replied curtly.

"Really, Rory, we're family. Call me 'Dad.'"

* * *

"What do you want?" Mitchum and I were in my motel room now. I wasn't thrilled about it, but we could hardly talk in the middle of the lobby with a dozen nosy reporters snooping and I knew better then to think I could make him leave.

Mitchum had helped himself to the desk chair. I remained standing—it wasn't like getting comfortable was an option anyhow, and I didn't want to make him feel welcome.

"What, a man can't just stop by to say 'hello' to his daughter-in-law?" I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. He chuckled in amusement, not at all deterred by my unwelcoming demeanor. He leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other. "It's funny, you know. Last I heard, you had rejected my son's proposal. And yet now I'm being told by a good friend that you and Logan were looking quite…domestic at Mr. McCrae's wedding yesterday." He stopped for a moment, focusing his eyes on me. "Nice rings, by the way." I was wearing both the platinum wedding band from Vegas as well as the engagement ring Logan had presented me with back at that ill-fated graduation party my grandparents had thrown me.

"My relationship with your _son,_" I spit out the last part with an abundance of sarcasm, "is none of your business."

"Au contraire, _Mrs. Huntzberger_," For the first time since Vegas, I shuttered at my new name. I loved Logan and I was proud to be his wife, even if I sucked at it, but being Mitchum's daughter-in-law was much less appealing. "My family is always my business."

"Family supports each other; they're there for one another. You let him leave Connecticut and start a new life without so much as a 'good-bye' or a 'good luck.' You haven't even spoken to him in almost a year. You lost the right to call him family months ago."

"And you've been there with him every step of the way?" Mitchum asked pointedly, sitting back up in the chair and planting his feet firmly on the floor.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that were suddenly pounding behind my eyes. It was true—I hadn't been there for him. "He left _me_," I replied weakly.

"As he did me," Mitchum agreed. He stood up from his chair and strode across the room towards me. "He walked into my office and quit my company, moved out of my apartment, and moved across the country without even telling me. And then, when he couldn't get what he wanted out of you, he left you, too." He was standing right in front of me now, and I knew I couldn't hide the moisture pooling up in my eyes. He reached an arm out towards me and I stepped back, not knowing what to expect. Mitchum just took another step towards me, put his arm around my waist and pulled me into him. I struggled for a moment, trying to get away. I hated this man in front of me. I hated him with every fiber of my being. He destroyed my life once. He'd destroyed Logan's life a million times. He was an awful human being. But my tears were falling now and I couldn't control them. I didn't have the will to fight anymore. I felt myself collapse into his embrace.

"He left," I sobbed. "He could have stayed. He could have given me the time I asked for. He could have supported my decision, but he left. He left, and I let him. I could have said yes. I could have said I wanted a long engagement. I could have found another way to prove that I was committed to him. I don't even know who to blame."

"Shh," he whispered soothingly into my hair. "It doesn't matter. You made a mistake, both of you did, but that's over now. It's time to stop blaming him. It's time to stop blaming yourself."

I sniffled loudly, surely getting snot all over his insanely expensive designer suit, but he didn't pull away, he just held me tighter. I suddenly wasn't sure if he was talking about me and Logan, or about him and Logan. I pushed myself away from him and hurriedly wiped my tears away. "What do you want?" I asked.

"I'd have thought it was obvious by now. I want my son back."

"Your son" I asked, steeling my voice over again, "or your heir?"

"Logan is the rightful inheritor of The Huntzberger Group," Mitchum admitted.

"No," I shook my head angrily, "he's doing well in Palo Alto. His new company is doing amazingly."

"I know," Mitchum nodded and I could actually see the pride in his eyes, "he's done well for himself these last few months. I always knew he had it in him."

"Then if you really cared about him, you wouldn't ask him to give that up."

"He could do just as well working for HPG again. Of course I understand he has responsibilities to his new company. I wouldn't expect him to ignore those. We'd work something out—perhaps take them under our wing as an umbrella company. Of course it'd help you out as well. You could move back east—be closer to your family. You wouldn't have to worry about a job either—you're a talented writer, I'm sure we could find you a position that suits both your talents and your ambitions…"

"This isn't about me," I reminded him.

"You're married now, Rory. What's about Logan _is_ about you," Mitchum advised. "Just talk it over with him." I looked straight at him. I couldn't figure out what he was up to. What did he really want? One minute he was sincere and the next he was the calculating Mitchum Huntzberger I knew. How could I trust him? "And either way, the next time you two are in Connecticut, Shira and I would love to have you for dinner."

* * *

**Reviews make me happy :)**


	8. Interlude:  Just Perfect

**AN: A brief interlude from an outsiders POV. I jsut thought this would be fun. I am actively working on the next and probably last (unless I choose to include an epilogue) chapter. I swear it, I really am. In the mean time, enjoy this little snippet of fun.**

* * *

My stomach rumbled angrily despite the fact that I had just gotten back from dinner at the local Perkin's an hour ago. I had tried to look at the menu but my eyes kept drifting up to stare across the table at the spunky brunette girl who sat there. She had been talking animatedly to her best friend and roommate but there was something not right—I could tell by the look in her eyes. Her eyes, of course, were what first drew my attention to her—how could any sane man _not_ notice those eyes? They were the bluest orbs I'd ever seen. But tonight they seemed paler, less alive then I remembered them being. She was upset. My mind was whirling with the possible reasons why.

Was it her husband? She had flown out for the weekend to go to a wedding with him, or at least that's what the rumors were. I hadn't spoken to her directly since she had first arrived back in Dallas after her mysterious disappearance from the trail in Vegas. I had been thrilled to see her back and of course, the idiot part of my personality had seen fit to tell her just that—in the most humiliating way possible. Then I noticed the ring and things went from bad to worse. A Vegas elopement? I knew that I didn't know Rory very well, but that was the last thing I would have expected from her. Was she even seeing anyone? There had never been any signs. But signs or no, she was married—to God only knew who. The girl who I couldn't stop thinking about for five minutes straight, was married. Just perfect. My shock was overwhelming and the words that had left my mouth in response had been completely, horrifyingly, embarrassing. There was no hope of her ever speaking to me again after that. Not that it mattered—you know, what with the husband and all.

Or maybe it was family. Her family could not have approved, right? Did they know the guy? Did they like him? And even if they did, they had to be upset that they weren't at the wedding. So perhaps Rory's melancholy eyes were a result of a family fight.

Whatever the reason, I felt myself longing to console her. My imagination was in over drive. Cheesy, cliché images of her crying into my shoulder about her failed marriage as I rubbed soothing circles on her back and whispered comforting words into her ear turned into more explicit imagery not suitable for this PG-13 forum.

Anyway, the next thing I knew the waitress was staring at me waiting for my order. I glanced down and asked for the first item I saw—the Mushroom Swiss Burger. Have I mentioned that I'm a vegetarian? This was just perfect. Thankfully no one noticed except Rob.

I munched on the French fries but even they had been tough to swallow. My imagination, which had been so pleasant at the beginning of the meal was now plagued with much less enjoyable thoughts. What if she and her husband were perfectly happy? What if the sad look in her eyes was merely a symptom of the separation? Perhaps they had had a perfect, honeymoon wedding—complete with all the honeymoon activities. I shuddered at the thought and pushed the rest of my fries away from me.

What was this girl doing to me? I was obsessed. It had to stop. She was married; I had no shot in hell. It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway. I knew nothing about her. We'd barely exchanged more than pleasantries in the entire seven months that I'd known her thanks to my ability to get ridiculously tongue-tied every time she was in the same vicinity as me.

Man I was starving. I set my computer aside and got up off my bed. "I'm going to the vending machine—want anything?" I asked Rob.

"Yeah, how about a nice plate of juicy ribs," he mocked.

I rolled my eyes. "Love you too, man," I replied sarcastically.

"I'm sorry, but you do make yourself an awfully easy target. You really need to get a hold of yourself and stop being so pathetic."

"I'm not pathetic," I countered.

"You're pathetic. The girl is taken. Get over it."

"But aren't you even the least bit curious?"

"Curious, sure. Obsessed, no."

"It's just, I didn't even know she was dating anyone. I mean, she says she's been with this guy since college, but how do we know she's telling the truth? Why would she have never mentioned him before? And didn't she go to Yale? That's pretty far away from Nevada so what was this college guy doing in Vegas at the same time we were. Plus, she went out with the group that night. If he was meeting her there don't you think she would have, you know, gone to meet him?"

"Okay, what part of 'get over it' confused you?"

I sighed. I knew this was unhealthy—possibly even bordering on obsessive like Rob said—but I just couldn't get her off my mind. There was something about Rory Gilmore that made me crazy. Still, I knew I'd get no more sympathy here. Rob had been more than patient with me and my crush but his patience was starting to wear thin.

"Never mind," I tried to shake my head of the thoughts and instead concentrated on my rumbling stomach. "I'm going," I informed him, picking my wallet up off the desk and reaching for the door knob. "Last call for junk food."

He thought about it for a split second before standing up from his chair and stretching his arms overhead. "I'll come with," he decided. "Staring at the computer screen is giving me a headache. I think I need some air."

We made our way out of the room and down the sidewalk towards the motel lobby. It was a tiny room with a desk, an old analog television and a couple of vending machines. There was some guy in a suit sitting along the wall with his face hidden behind a newspaper. Rob and I walked past him to vending machines.

"All this junk food is going to kill me," I commented as my eyes scanned the selections in front of me. "I've gained ten pounds since I started this job."

"Way to sound like a girl," Rob mocked. "Do you want to know if those jeans make your ass look fat?"

"Well excuse me for being concerned about my health."

"Yeah, that's it. I'm sure looking good for a certain Miss Gilmore…or, oh I'm sorry, it's _Mrs._ Someone Else now, right? I'm sure that has nothing to do with it. It's not like if you lose the ten pounds maybe she'll lose the mystery husband, right?"

Just perfect, could he be any louder? "I thought we weren't talking about this anymore," I deflect. It was embarrassing enough being 25 years old and crushing like a school boy on a married woman. I didn't need to talk about it in public. Especially when there were curious reporters everywhere who loved to gossip.

"Really? Because a few minutes ago it was all you could talk about."

"She has nothing to do with it," I defended. "I'm just not used to being out of shape. I used to run track, you know."

"I ran track." The man with the newspaper spoke. Rob and I turned our attentions to him as he lowered his paper. "The 400."

I blinked in awe a few times. "Is that…" I whispered to Rob.

"Mitchum Huntzberger," he greeted putting his paper down and standing up. Apparently I wasn't hallucinating. The biggest man in journalism was actually sitting in the lobby of some run down motel in Atlanta. Of course, it could still be a hallucination—it was just visual _and_ auditory. It must have been an unfortunate side effect of hypoglycemia from not having anything to eat.

"Hello, sir. It's an honor to meet you," Rob reached his hand out to greet the almighty Huntzberger. "I'm Rob. Rob Miccio. I work for your Seattle paper."

"It's a pleasure." He shook Rob's hand. "And you are…?" He looked at me.

"Uh, Phil. Phil McGovern."

"I hate to pry but I couldn't help overhearing your conversation," he commented. "Woman trouble?" he asked with a grin.

"Oh, umm…It's nothing really." He'd overheard. Wasn't _that_ just perfect? Maybe it was just me but this seemed a little personal to be discussing with a stranger, especially one who was famous and Rob's boss. Well, actually, his boss's boss's boss's boss…I think that was the right number of bosses. I shook myself out of my daze.

"I'm glad to hear that. Believe me, getting involved with a married woman is never worth it. Besides, she's probably very happily married. If she's as good a girl as you seem to think, she's probably got herself a keeper. And then there's the family. You don't want to go messing with a woman's family. You never know how they might react…"

He was looking at me strangely now, almost like he was challenging me. It was definitely unnerving to say the least. "Umm, thanks for the advice," I muttered in reply.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you boys," he replied, sitting himself down in the chair he had been occupying a few minutes earlier.

Rob and I gave each other curious glances. "Uhh…food?" he suggested after a moment.

"Yeah," I replied, glancing back at Mitchum Huntzberger who was once again hidden behind his newspaper. "Let's do that." Rob and I loaded up on bags of chips, bars of chocolate and a couple of sodas and headed back towards our room. We didn't get far when I noticed Rory walking by.

"Hey," I tried to greet her but she didn't even seem to notice I was there. She was speed walking in the direction we'd just come from. I turned around and watched her head straight for the lobby. I'd wondered if she'd heard about Mitchum Huntzberger being there. She must have been really excited to meet him. He was a legend after all—granted, a creepy, inappropriately personal legend, but a legend none the less.

I couldn't help myself. Despite the fact that I knew better, and despite Mitchum Huntzberger's unsolicited advice, I turned around and followed her back towards the lobby. She paused in the doorway and I came up a few steps behind her.

"Mitchum," I heard her say. I didn't have time to marvel at the informality of the greeting before he responded.

"Really, Rory, we're family. Call me "Dad'"

I stumbled backwards at the shock of the words. 'Dad?' Mitchum Huntzberger was Rory's father? I almost laughed out loud at myself for the naivety of my first thought. Of course he wasn't her father. He was her father-_in-law_.

"Dude, you okay?" Rob placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Sure," I laughed. "I'm okay. I'm perfect. I mean, if she wasn't out of my league before…" I laughed again, bowling over at the obsurdity of it all. "Rory Huntzberger…it's got a ring to it, right?

"Phil…" Rob raised his eyebrows at me, clearly thinking I'd gone off my rocker. Maybe I had.

"No, really. So, she's married into journalism royalty," I shrugged my shoulders, continuing to laugh. "It's just perfect."

"If it helps any, I heard Logan Huntzberger isn't in the family business anymore…"

I watched as Rory led Mitchum out of the lobby and back towards her hotel room. Clearly all family ties had not been severed. At least now I knew what the hell Mitchum had been talking about before. That glare he gave wasn't a challenge, it was a threat. Man, my life was just perfect. A fucking comedy of errors.

"Well," I responded to Rob amusedly. "At least he's got a daughter-in-law who can take over. Hey, Rory could be your boss someday."

"Dude, I think you need a beer."

That statement couldn't have been more obvious. "Yeah man, I think I do." In fact, I think I needed ten. Ten would be just perfect.


	9. Confessions

**AN: So, I finally did it. I bet you were beginning to think you might never live to see this day. But here it is, proof that I haven't given up on my stories. This is the final chapter of WHiV. Yes folks, after surpasing my original plan of three chapters by 200 percent, I have finally finished this story. I hope I sucessfully wrapped up all the issues I brought to life in this story and gave our favorite couple the happy ending they deserve. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

The air smelled sweet despite the fumes of the cars and airplanes that surrounded me. The sun beat down and I prayed that the SPF 30 I applied would be enough to save my pale skin from turning beet red since I could hardly stand to put the top up on the Mercedes convertible Logan had reserved for us. I slowed down as I passed the US Airways "Arrivals" terminal. Glancing at the clock, I noted that Logan's plane should have landed twenty minutes ago; he would be walking out the door any minute, but there was no sign of him yet. With an impatient sigh, I pressed my foot down onto the gas and made another loop around the airport.

I couldn't wait to see him. I wanted nothing more than to hold his hand, to feel his lips against mine, to have his arms wrap around me and make me forget the stress of work, and my mother and even our unsteady relationship. I wanted to pretend for a while that everything was perfect and that we really were a smitten newlywed couple on our dream honeymoon. At the same time I was nervous and anxious, knowing that things between us weren't okay, and that this was as much a last ditch effort to save our marriage as it was a honeymoon; knowing that pretending would only go so far and that the reality of our fragile relationship would need to be addressed before we could truly enjoy ourselves—_if_ we could truly enjoy ourselves. This trip could turn out to be the best or the worst of my life and the uncertainty was tying me in knots.

The terminal came into view again and as I eased off the gas I noticed Logan wheeling his luggage towards the curbside. He was dressed in a pair of Dockers and a button up Hawaiian shirt that I would bet a million dollars on, that he had borrowed from Finn. His hair was as artfully tousled as always and his eyes were covered with a pair of Ray Bans. I pulled the car up to the curb; undoing my seatbelt and unlocking the door before I'd even come to a complete stop. I put the car into park with one hand and opened the door with the other, but my excitement waned as I noticed the lack of a smile on his face. I slowed down my exit from the vehicle and approached him cautiously.

"Hey Baby," I smiled guardedly as I circled my arms around his neck.

"Hi," he responded, circling his own around my waist but his posture remained stiff and his face was still expressionless. I leaned in to give him a quick kiss but his lips felt as though they were paralyzed. Maybe he'd just decided to give Botox a try—so what if he was twenty-five and completely wrinkle-free—but I was going to go out on a limb and say it was more likely that he was upset about something. He couldn't still be mad at me about postponing the trip, could he? After all, we were here now and I was ready for this vacation in my cutest, little sundress.

"Is something wrong? Was your flight alright?"

"The flight was fine," he answered, extracting himself from my embrace and grabbing his luggage. He walked around to the trunk of the car and opened it, placing the bag inside. "We should get to the hotel." He continued on to the driver's side and automatically took over the seat. I worried my lip and slipped into the passenger seat. If only he had let me drive I would have had something to concentrate on other than the stony expression and cold greeting he'd met me with. Instead I had to sit and dwell on it the entire—silent—drive to the hotel.

He continued to practically ignore me straight through check in, up the elevator and into our room. Logan tipped the bellhop who politely thanked him and slipped out of our suite.

"So," I started, trying to break the tense silence. Logan simply unzipped his suit case and began unpacking without a word. "What do you want to do first?" I asked him.

"I'm unpacking, Rory."

"We don't have to do that right away," I suggested. "We could go to the beach."

"It's too late for the beach."

It was only 3 o'clock and the sun wouldn't set for a few more hours—plenty of time to catch some rays. "Are you sure you're okay?" I asked with a furrowed brow.

"No, Rory—I'm not okay." He spun around angrily and his sudden outburst had me stumbling back a few steps in shock. The back of my knees hit the bed and I lost my balance, just barely keeping myself standing.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Why don't you tell me?

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Really, Rory? You don't have anything you want to tell me?" He stared at me, waiting for a response, but I had none to give him. What did he want from me? "That's what I thought." He turned back to his suitcase and slammed the lid shut. "I can't do this anymore," he scoffed. "This…" He motioned from him to me. "Our marriage…it was doomed before it even started. You were right to say 'no' the first time; you clearly have more important things to do than to be my wife."

I sunk back onto the bed which was still right behind me, mouth agape and watched him walk towards the door. I didn't have the emotional energy to fight back this time. I didn't even know what I'd done wrong and he was still mad as hell at me. I was tired of fighting this losing battle. I was tired of the constant feelings of failure. Maybe it just wasn't meant to be. Still, I at least had to know. "What did I do wrong?" The tears were prickling my eyes and I tried hard to keep them at bay.

He sighed, took a step away from the door, and paused without turning around. "It's not what you did, Rory. It's what you won't do. I can't be in a marriage with a wife who won't talk to me."

"We talk every day," I argued.

"And yet you haven't said one real thing to me in weeks." He finally turned to face me. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"Tell you _what_?"

"About my father." _What_? How did he find out about that? No wonder he was so upset. Mitchum had been messing up his life for the past twenty-five years. He had to be thinking the worst. But that's why I hadn't told him. I didn't want him to worry about Mitchum interfering in his life or our marriage.

"There's nothing to tell, Logan. He ambushed me. I had nothing to do with it."

"There has to be some reason you'd hide it from me."

"Because he _wanted_ me to tell you," I pleaded, standing up and walking over to Logan. "He's trying to weasel his way back into your life, and you are doing so well without him. I didn't want to mess that up." I tentatively reached out for his hand.

"No." He drew his hand away and ran it through his hair. "I'm a big boy. I can handle my father. You don't get to decide things like that."

"I was just trying to protect you."

"When have I ever needed protecting, Rory?"

"I just thought…." I wiped away the tears rolling down my cheeks.

"What? Please, explain to me what you've been thinking, because I'm not a fucking mind reader, Rory. I need you to talk to me."

"I'm trying here," I sniffled. "I really am, but I just don't know what to do. I thought I was doing the right thing by not telling you. I mean, you have so much going on—with your business, with your family…with us—I didn't want to give you something else to worry about. I thought…" I stuttered, feeling completely insane for what I was about to say. "I thought it was what I was supposed to do…"

"_Supposed_ to do?" he repeated incredulously.

"God, I sound like and idiot." I buried my face in my hands, sniffling loudly. "It's just, I'm not _there_ Logan. I'm your wife and I'm supposed to be by your side." I wiped some more tears away; they were falling faster now. "But I'm not because I'm working. And I just…I can't give that up because I'm _good_ at it. Being a reporter is what I've been preparing for my whole life. Nobody prepared me to be a wife and there are all these things that I'm supposed to _do_ and I can't do them because of my job and so I suck at being your wife and it's like the harder I try, the…" sniffle, "the…the more I suck and I just don't know how to do any better but I'm trying, Logan, I swear."

I finished my incredibly embarrassing ramble and for a moment there was silence. I couldn't bare to look up at him to see what he was thinking.

"Rory," he finally said my name and I felt his arms wrap around me. I buried my face in his chest and I felt his lips press softly against the top of my head. My silent tears turned to full out balling and he gripped me tighter, holding me until my crying calmed back down and I stopped shaking. "Have you been taking marriage advice from the Real Housewives of the OC, or something?" he said lightly.

It was a joke, meant to ease the tension, but I responded anyway, shaking my head 'no' against his chest. "So just from the Housewives of Hartford, then?" he asked, more seriously this time.

"I'm sorry," I sniffled.

"Hey…" he led me towards the bed so we could sit down. "_I'm_ sorry."

"_What_?" What on earth was _he_ apologizing for?

"For my mother," he clarified. "God, Rory, that dinner was _years_ ago. Have you really been carrying this around all this time?"

Of the hundreds of dinners I'd shared with him, I knew exactly which one he was talking about. It was the first. Or at least the first we'd shared as a real couple. And it was also the first time I'd met his family. They had made no attempts to hide their disapproval of me. I wanted to work, after all. I could still hear Shira Huntzberger's sing-song voice in my ear…"A girl like Rory has no idea what it takes to be in this family…She wasn't bred for it…" Or Logan's grandfather's—"_You_ are going to be taking over this company…and when you do, you're going to need the right kind of person at your side…" I wasn't the right kind of person. I wanted to work.

"It's just…"

"Just that you think you need to be like 'that Fallon girl'?" he air quoted. "You know that's not what I want, Rory." He led me over to the bed so we could sit.

"Just that there are all these expectations," I said.

"Whose expectations?" he asked. "My parents'?" Because I thought we'd agreed that they were insane-os who should not be listened to."

"It's not just them, Logan. It's everyone. Your family, my family, your colleagues, _my_ colleagues…people we don't even know and will never meet. You may not be the future CEO of Huntzberger Publishing anymore, but you've got your own company and people know your name and they expect certain things from you including the kind of wife you'll have."

"So that's why you said 'no' when I asked you to marry me? Because you didn't want to be the kind of wife you thought people would expect you to be?" he asked. I could tell he was a little hurt by that but I needed to make him see that it wasn't about what I wanted. What I wanted had always been him.

"I said 'no' because I _couldn't_ be the kind of wife I was _supposed_ to be," I corrected, cupping his hands in mine on his lap. "These past few weeks have been Hell, Logan." I could see him immediately starting to react so I cut him off before he had a chance to misinterpret what I meant. "I mean…I am _so_ happy to have this second chance with you. I love you and I was miserable when we were apart."

"I was too," he added. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. For a moment neither of us spoke, just taking that split moment in time to feel the love and devotion we had for each other despite all of our problems. But I had to finish what I was trying to say.

"…But from the moment I woke up in that hotel room in Vegas wearing this ring…" I held up my left hand. "…I feel like I've been disappointing you."

"Rory…" he tried to interrupt, to tell me that it wasn't true, only it was, so I didn't let him say it.

"No, let me finish."

"Okay," he conceded.

"I feel like I've been disappointing you and then I felt guilty about that which made me start sucking at work because all I could think about was you and then I think maybe, in some small way I started resenting you for making me suck at work which is why I got so angry when you asked Hugo for time off for me and I'm sorry for that because it's not your fault…" He squeezed my hand but didn't interrupt me this time.

"I've been letting everyone down and I just feel like this huge failure, which, you know is totally not me. I don't fail. And if I had said 'yes', I just would have been setting myself up for this big, fat failure. But then I got drunk and I listened to my heart and married you anyway, because _you_ are what my heart wants. I _want_ you Logan. I want you and this marriage. But my heart has never been the best decision maker, hence the pro-con lists, which I didn't make and now I'm here and I'm failing and I'm letting you down which I never wanted to do…"

Logan chuckled out loud and my head snapped up to look at him angrily. "You're laughing at me?"

"No!" he insisted. "Well, yes, but only because I never cease to be amazed at your ability to rant endlessly without coming up for air."

He smiled at me. "Stop that," I scolded him. "You're supposed to be mad at me."

He brought his hand up to my face to cup my chin, forcing me to look him in the eye. "You just bared your soul to me, Rory Gilmore, how can I be mad at that?

"But…"

"No," he interrupted. "You got to say your piece, now I'm going to say mine." I nodded my head in agreement. "You're crazy, Ace."

I stared at him for a moment, waiting for more. "That's it?"

He shrugged. "Granted, I knew that when I married you and for a long time before that, so it's not exactly anything new, but you're crazy."

"Thanks." I rolled my eyes.

"It's just, you keep talking about all these expectations, but the only one who's putting these unrealistic expectations on you is you. You've somehow gotten it into your head that I need you to be some kind of Stepford wife and that if you can't manage my life and shmooze my business associates with dinner parties and flirty smiles and be 'pleasant' all the time that you shouldn't be my wife at all which is just completely insane because that's exactly the kind of wife I don't want. So yeah, you're crazy."

I didn't know how to respond because it really was as crazy as it sounded so I just forced a small smile and said, "see, I knew you had more to say."

He laughed, it was short but sincere and he leaned forward until his forehead pressed against mine. "I love you."

"I love you too." His lips collided with mine for a chaste kiss.

"And I know you, Ace. I know how hard it is for you not to have the approval of my family. You're a people pleaser, and I love that about you. I love that you want to make everyone happy but not if it means sacrificing your happiness—or mine," he added with a smirk, giving me a peck on the forehead. "The only opinions that really matter in this relationship are ours and I'm pretty sure neither of us wants you to turn into a Shira-Huntzberger-approved trophy wife. I married _you _and the only expectation I had when I said 'I do' was that I was going to share the rest of my life with you."

"You make it sound so simple."

"It _is_ simple, Ace. And if you'd told me this six months ago it could have simple then."

"You didn't exactly give me the chance."

He sighed and the smile slipped from his lips. "You're right. You didn't talk, but I didn't listen. I should have listened. I let my wounded pride get in the way. The break-up was as much my fault as it was yours."

"We really need to work on our communication skills," I surmised.

"So let's promise to do that, right here, right now. You promise to always tell me what you're thinking and what's going on in your life even if you're worried it will upset me, and I promise to always listen and try to understand."

"Like making a new vow?" I giggled. "I promise to love, honor, cherish and communicate?"

He grabbed my hands in his and entwined our fingers, staring me straight in the eye. "Rory Gilmore, I, Logan Huntzberger, promise to love, honor, cherish and communicate with you, till death do us part," he repeated seriously.

I wanted to be as serious as him but he was just too adorable. I giggled again. "Are you sure you don't want to just write it down on a post-it note?"

"Huh?" He furrowed his brow in confusion.

"Never mind," I laughed. I would have to get him up-to-date on his pop culture references some other time. I plastered the best serious face on that I could and looked him straight in the eye. "Logan Huntzberger, I, Rory Gilmore, promise to love, honor, cherish and communicate with you till death do us part," I agreed.

"I'm going to kiss the bride now," he informed me.

"You better," I instructed with a smile.

He took my face in his hands and kissed me passionately, the way I imagined he did at our real wedding. Only I was glad it wasn't our real wedding because it quickly turned into something that should definitely not be witnessed by other people. He pushed me backwards until my head hit the pillow and he shifted his own body on top of mine to continue our kissing.

His lips migrated from mine, pressing their way down my neck. He pushed the strap of my sun dress down so he could suckle at the pulse point at the crook of my neck and I moaned in appreciation.

"I like this dress," he whispered against my skin with a smirk as his hand dipped below the hem to travel up my leg. "Nice and breezy."

"I'm glad you approve."

"I do. It's coming off though," he added, bringing his other hand down to push the skirt up. His hands felt amazing against my skin but something was distracting me.

"Logan?" I asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" he hummed as his hands trailed up over my hips

"I'm sorry about your Dad." I probably should have just let it go. The fight was over and we were headed for some very steamy make-up sex. But something was bugging me.

"We already discussed this, Ror, and I'd prefer if we not mention my Dad while I was undressing you; it's creepy."

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just, I should have told you. You shouldn't have found out from…how exactly _did_ you find out?"

Logan sighed in frustration and pushed himself up on his forearms. "Hugo told me."

"Hugo?" I asked.

"Apparently when Dad heard about us his evil brain hatched some evil scheme to get to me through you. He called Hugo up to find out where you were going to be. When Hugo told him you wouldn't be back for over a week, Dad must have decided that was unacceptable and he threatened him into making you come back early. Hugo felt so guilty though, that he called me up last night to apologize," Logan explained.

"Oh." It actually made sense—Hugo's sudden need for me to be back to work, his weirdness on the phone when he told me…I certainly wouldn't have put it past Mitchum. "Well, I'm sorry."

"So you said. Can we get back to the make-up sex now?"

I laughed, pulling his head down to mine. My hands clumsily undid the buttons of his shirt as he continued to kiss me. As soon as I had successfully removed his shirt, Logan scooched down and disappeared beneath my dress which was bunched up nearly to my cleavage. I could feel him toying with the hem of my panties, teasing me. My hips bucked up a little in anticipation but the pleasure didn't last as I was once again distracted, this time but a sudden overwhelming sense of guilt. There was so much more I had kept from him, not just the thing with Mitchum.

"I lied," I blurted out. I felt his head collapse against my lower abdomen, though I couldn't see him since he was still underneath my dress. He let out a sharp breath which tickled slightly. I squirmed a little at the feeling, trying not to let myself get excited by it. "I _do_ regret not getting the big wedding with the dress and the cake, and my family. I didn't want you to feel bad that I felt bad so I lied."

He lifted his head up and the hem of my dress fell away, revealing his face. His expression was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "You know when I made you promise to tell me everything I didn't necessarily mean right this second. Can't confession wait until after the make-up sex?"

"Yeah, right, of course…"I shook my head slightly, trying to banish the thoughts from it.

"Good," he replied, picking up the hem of my dress once again. "Because I'm about to do that thing with my tongue…"

I knew exactly which 'thing' he was talking about and I felt my stomach clench in anticipation. I _loved_ that thing. But just as his head started to disappear from view again I stopped him.

"It's just…"

"Really, Ace?" he asked, dropping my dress and looking at me with raised eyebrows. "_Really?_"

"I haven't talked to my Mom since I called her from Vegas to tell her we were married," I confessed quickly.

With a sigh he rolled over and fell flat on his back next to me. "And the make-up sex is officially on hold," he grumbled.

"I'm sorry," I pouted. "What are you doing?" I asked him, as I noticed him rolling away from me.

"I'm getting the phone," he replied, reaching for the phone on the night stand and rolling back over to offer it to me. I looked at it as though it were toxic. "You have to call her, Rory."

"No!" I shook my head adamantly, feeling nauseous and sweaty at the mere thought. "I can't, she hates me."

"She doesn't hate you," he assured me. "She hates _me_. And if you don't call her, not only will you be miserable until you do, but Lorelai will once again blame me for causing a rift between you two."

"She doesn't hate you." He gave me the 'who are you trying to convince look' and continued to hold the phone out to me.

"You have to call her," he reiterated. "For all you know she could still be expecting us for Thanksgiving." He rubbed his forehead in frustration.

"Trust me, she's not."

"How do you know that?"

"Because she hates you," I blurted out. He looked at me with raised eyebrows. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I just mean she knows that I wouldn't want to bring you there after the things we said on the phone last time."

"Rory," he growled in annoyance, pushing the phone towards me. "I am not going to be the reason that you and your mother aren't talking, so get on the damn phone and fix this."

I just stared at him. "Fine," he said after a moment when it became clear that I wasn't going to take the proffered device.

"What are you doing?" I asked in horrified awe as I saw him punching numbers into the phone.

"If you won't call her, I will." I was suddenly _very_ interested in taking the phone from Logan. I tried desperately to get it but he maneuvered it away from me and pressed the 'send' button.

I could just barely hear it ring—once, twice, three times—and then my mother's voice sounded from the distance. "Hello?"

My eyes were wide and frightened, but I couldn't back out now. Logan slowly brought the phone to my ear. "Mom," I whispered nervously.

"Rory?" My heart clenched a little at the sound of her voice close-up.

"Is there someone else who calls you 'Mom'?" I joked half heartedly, but I felt myself relax a little, rolling onto my side and leaning back into the pillows beneath me.

"Where are you?" she asked seriously.

"I'm sorry I haven't called." I felt Logan snuggle up behind me and throw his arm over my waist. He placed a chaste kiss on my shoulder as though he was telling me it would be okay and in that moment, I knew he was right. We were finally good and everything was going to be okay. "We're in Hawaii…" I told her, "on our honeymoon. But we'll be home for Christmas."


End file.
